


The Unexpected Snape

by imablack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-24 10:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1601378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imablack/pseuds/imablack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus thought he knew what to expect of the spawn of James Potter...until he walked into the Great Hall looking like Severus Snape. Co-authored with Luck on Potions and Snitches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My co-author, Luck, has created two Youtube fan trailers for our story.
> 
> We hope you enjoy them.
> 
> TUS #1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFheplTvA90&feature=youtu.be
> 
> TUS #2 (Intended for teen and above. Slightly more mature content. Partial nudity. Chronicles the events leading to Harry's birth) : https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=e-6RDORfm_w

***1 September, 1991 -10:21pm***

Severus Snape tied his house robe around his waist as he stepped out of his private bathroom. He had hoped that the hot water running down his back would relieve the tension, but it had done no good. He was going to have to resort to stronger methods and he went straight for the fire whiskey.

Severus poured himself two good measures and slammed the carafe on the table with a hard _thunk_. He downed the liquid courage in a single, hard swallow. The heat that poured down his throat wasn't nearly as satisfying as he had hoped it would be. The normally dour man had considered another…many in fact. All he wanted to do was drown out the memory of that night's Welcoming Feast, but he could not. Severus had to be up early to teach classes the next day. Drinking himself into oblivion was something he could not indulge in.

Instead, Severus sat himself on the worn Chesterfield in front of the fire and did something he had not allowed of himself in ten years. He put his head in his hands and cried.

Ever since the end term in June, Severus had been fretting this day—the day Harry Potter was to begin Hogwarts. He had been preparing himself for it in fact…the day the product of the one girl Severus had ever loved and the bully who had tormented him throughout his adolescence walked through the doors of the Great Hall to begin his magical training.

Yes—Severus had prepared himself. He prepared himself to hate the spoiled, arrogant spawn of James Potter. Severus expected to see the emerald eyes of Lily Evans, his beloved, fixed on Potter's snide face. After all, when the brat was born, Dumbledore had lauded how the boy had Lily's striking eyes and Potter's raven hair.

Severus was prepared for his life to turn upside down. He was prepared to go chasing after the little miscreant every night if need be. He had already planned appropriate and inventive detentions and punishments he was certain he would have to dole out.

Yes—Severus was prepared for the arrival of Harry James Potter… _but not like this_. When he first set eyes on the dark-haired boy who was too small for his age, wearing glasses too large for his face, Severus knew immediately that things were not as he had been led to believe.

Severus Snape was the Potions Master at Europe's premier school of Witchcraft and Wizardry and a former Death Eater who turned spy for the Light. He was accustomed to the unexpected. But nothing could have prepared him for the blow that he was given tonight. His life was about to be turned upside down, alright…in ways he had never expected. Not when he had taken the Dark Mark…not when he found out that his precious Lily had been targeted for extermination…neither could compare to the cold fear that sat in his belly like solid block of lead at that moment.

For that very night, Severus Snape had realized that he was a father. And he was the father of none other than Harry Potter…The Boy Who Lived.

Severus considered pouring another finger of fire whiskey, after all, when he heard the Floo flare to life, heralding the appearance of a not entirely unexpected visitor.

Severus never spared a glance to the hearth; there was only one person who could gain entry into his rooms without his express permission. He said nothing as Albus Dumbledore stepped into his line of sight. The dotty headmaster was still dressed in the ridiculous spangled robes he had worn to the Sorting.

Without bothering to ask Severus' leave, Albus settled himself comfortably into the chair across from his potions master. For a long while Severus refused meet his mentor's expectant gaze. Without realizing when or why he had done so, Severus unexpectedly found himself looking into those damnable, twinkling blue eyes. As usual, they shone with warmth and kindly understanding, and as usual, Severus found himself miffed because of it.

Severus' gut turned in on itself, as if he were a small child caught misbehaving. It annoyed him to no end that the aging wizard could still have such an effect on him. There had been only three people Severus had ever really loved and two of them had passed beyond the Veil long ago. The third was Albus Dumbledore.

Over time, the august headmaster had somehow become the paternal figure Severus had never known in his own father, Tobias Snape. Severus was only a mere child when he first entered the grand, magical edifice of that was Hogwarts. His mother's stories of Albus Dumbledore's legendary power and wisdom were almost too much for a young boy to comprehend, but once he laid eyes on the headmaster, even the young boy understood. Almost immediately, Severus admired him, even as he coveted and feared the famous wizard's awesome power.

Later, as a young man, after Severus realized his gross errors in judgement when he trusted another great and powerful wizard whose words were as sweet as honey, yet dripped venom all the same. Before it was too late to turn back, Severus shifted his efforts towards defending the Light. To some, his willingness to enter the Dark Lord's lair in order to glean valuable information on behalf of the headmaster's Order of the Phoenix, was an act of bravery. To Severus it was an act of selfishness. He knew he had only to save Lily. Severus felt grateful and completely undeserving of Albus' acceptance, understanding and the swift intervention that had kept him out of Azkaban.

Severus felt that a life sentence in the hellish prison was the least he was due for his trespasses. Initially, he assumed that the headmaster came to his aid because Dumbledore had further use for him. In time, however, Severus reluctantly came to realize Dumbledore would never have protected him, much less trusted and confided in him, if the headmaster disliked the younger wizard.

When Severus came to realize that the old man loved him as the son he had never had, flabbergasted couldn't begin to describe how Severus had felt. After all, who could love such an ugly, bitter, emotionally flawed person such as himself?

As time passed, and Severus had come to know the headmaster as just a man rather than a myth, he began suspect it was due to the fact the Albus might have seen a bit of himself in Severus. Dumbledore had known the temptation of power that had yielded disastrous results, just as Severus had. This epiphany further ignited Severus' fierce loyalty and the love of a son for his father. He was well aware Dumbledore manipulated and used him at times, but it was obvious the elder wizard genuinely loved and worried over him. Loathe though he was to admit it, Albus spoiled Severus much as one might a petulant son, allowing his Potions Master more leeway with how he ran his classes than the headmaster might his other professors, and enabling Severus during his many infamous, cantankerous mood swings.

This had been obvious in the days and months after Lily's death. The Potion Master was quite sure that the headmaster's influence and guidance had been the only thing that had kept him from meeting his end by his own hand after Lily died. During one of the bleakest times in Severus' life, Dumbledore had saved him once again, this time from suffocating in a thick mire of self-pity and bitter remorse. Therefore, Severus did everything Dumbledore wanted and more, not only because he had promised anything, but also because in reality he wanted to please the older man.

Finally Severus had to speak, if only to end the thunderous silence that had collected in the room. "Did you, by chance, happen to notice anything odd about our new celebrity?"

Severus squirmed under Albus' scrutiny. "Other than the fact that Harry Potter only superficially resembles James and bears an uncannily striking likeness to Hogwarts' current Potions Master; I've noticed nothing out of the ordinary about the boy at all."

"The boy's appearance could be mere coincidence, however, I must know for certain." Then Severus quietly said more to himself than Albus, "If it is true then this changes everything."

"I understand, Severus," Dumbledore assured. "So it is possible then? Harry could be your son?"

Severus nodded his affirmation. "It is a possibility. The timing is right," he said reflectively. "Harry was likely conceived at the end of October."

"I wasn't even aware you had any contact with Lily after the two of you left Hogwarts."

"Before that keen mind of yours comes to the wrong conclusion, old man, it was entirely consensual— by _both_ parties," Severus snapped.

"Severus, it seems you are the one making assumptions," Albus said patiently. "Nothing could be further from my mind. I am well aware that you would never hurt Lily so."

"I won't go into details. The interlude was far too brief and once again, she chose Potter. Scarcely a fortnight had passed after I last saw her, when their marriage announcement appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ _,_ " Severus said bitterly

"She was unfaithful to Potter." Severus' announcement lacked the expected note of triumph. "However, in the end, it was _him_ …it was always _him_."

"She chose to bear _your_ son," Dumbledore murmured. "It was not a decision she was coerced into. Lily was a brilliant witch. No doubt she was aware of her child's paternity."

"Lily would never have aborted the baby, even if it was mine," Severus said sullenly.

"Severus…," Albus began, his voice slightly pained.

"Did you suspect this... _this_ turn of events?" Severus interrupted, not even attempting to hide his suspicion.

"Severus, I pride myself on the fact that my intuition far exceeds that of the ordinary witch or wizard, but even I must confess that I find this turn of events unexpected. I hadn't the least notion that Harry was other than who Lily claimed him to be—the son of James Potter," Dumbledore replied tilting his head in thought. "I am quite aware of your feelings for Lily, of how deeply you still love her. Do you think so little of me to believe I would purposefully keep you from the child you helped her create… _your_ child?"

"You placed him with Lily's sister, correct?"

Dumbledore leaned back into the chair again, steepling his fingers together. "At the time, I felt the Blood Wards that Lily's sacrifice offered him was Harry's best protection."

"And now?" Severus asked contemptibly, his dark eyes flashing as they made contact with the headmaster's. " _Tuney_ was a jealous and vindictive child and I seriously doubt time has changed her."

Dumbledore sighed. "Normally I would not recommend turning a child's life upside down, especially at this juncture. However, these recent events must be taken into consideration. The owls had difficulty delivering Mr Potter's letter. Hagrid took on the task of hand delivering it for me. Perhaps you should speak with him about his encounter with Harry and his guardians?"

For the briefest of moments, Severus was caught off guard and he inadvertently allowed his normally stoic countenance to slip. "If they have…if they have _hurt_ him..." He trailed, off his jaw clenched tightly at the thought of that horse-faced shrew laying one finger on the boy's head.

Severus would not wait. He would get to the bottom of this tonight. Severus dashed to his room to quickly change into trousers and a jumper then grabbed his robes off the back of his chair where he had carelessly thrown them when he returned from the Welcoming Feast, and slipped them on.

"I would like to discuss this _visit_ to the Dursleys. Where might I find Hagrid?" Severus asked, as he smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles. Merlin knows he paid enough for the magical wrinkle-free fabric.

"I expect that he is still in the boat house, securing the punts."

Without saying another word, Severus turned and swept from the room, his dark robes gliding across the stone floor in his wake.


	2. Chapter 2

Severus stalked through the cold empty corridors of Hogwarts, the torches magically casting an eerie dance of light and shadow on the stone walls. The massive solid oak doors of the main entrance creaked open as he approached. As he strode across the vast courtyard he heard the echoing, metallic boom as the doors slammed shut behind him.

The trek to the boathouse was not a short one for the Potions Master. Severus pulled his robes tighter around him in an effort to ward off the damp chill. The cool night air so early in September heralded the approach of an early Scottish winter—or he could simply have been imagining it. Severus could have simply been cold from fear of what he could discover in a few short moments.

As Severus approached the steep, winding stairs, the small structure of the glass boathouse came to view in the distance. He looked across the spectacular vista and was struck with a sense of Déjá vu. He remembered the night long ago when he and Lily crossed the Black Lake together and first laid eyes on the majestic castle. The lights of the ancient castle sparkled like diamonds on a black velvet drapery. The eleven-year-old Severus was struck breathless and Lily was equally awestruck.

Severus had heard the tales of the magical castle from his mother his entire life, but nothing had prepared him for the experience. Even at that young age, Severus felt the powerful magic emanating from the castle. It breathed magic like a living thing. The air seemed to vibrate with it as the tiny punts were magically drawn into the castle. It struck Severus like a bell, the moment he stepped off the small boat and into the castle. To this day, he still believed that the castle was sentient, acknowledging each magical child as they passed through her barriers. This was why the annual ritual of traversing the lake was always honoured, even in inclement weather. Fortunately, the benign giant squid that dwelled in the Black Lake was always nearby to return any inquisitive children to their boat that may have been unfortunate enough to fall over the side.

The sky had been clear for Harry's first trip across the lake, just as it had been the night Severus first arrived at Hogwarts. He remembered as he sat in that small punt, Lily had wound her fingers into his, seeking strength from him. It was one of Severus' happiest memories. In fact, it was the memory he used to conjure his Patronus.

That happy moment had been broken, however, when the moron, Sirius Black, pompously and erroneously proclaimed that the Black Lake had been named after his family. Ironic, considering how vehemently Black tried to deny his heritage as the years passed.

In reality, the Black Lake had been simply named because of its colour, a very dark, inky hue. Beneath the nearly constant layer of mist, the water seemed as still as obsidian glass.

Severus stopped half way down the stairs and gazed out across the expanse. He could not help but wonder about Harry's experience crossing the lake. Had Harry been spellbound by the magic, awestruck by the castles dangerous beauty—or had Petunia, who as a child had both coveted and loathed anything magical, manipulated the little boy into believing magic was evil and abnormal? The look of wonder on

Harry's face as he came through the Great Hall and saw the enchanted ceiling and floating candles, indicated to Severus that Tuney had not been successful in poisoning the boy's mind against magic. Severus had a deep, sinking feeling in his gut that Petunia Dursley tried very hard to quell Harry's magic.

When Severus finally reached the boathouse, he paused just outside the door. He could see the outline of Hagrid's hulking mass through the leaded glass. There was a flash of wand light, the loud clatter of something heavy crashing to the floor and then Hagrid's disgruntled muttering. Severus smirked. He would be willing to bet an entire month's salary that the grounds keeper was using his ridiculous pink flowered umbrella that obviously contained the bits of his broken wand, to magic the boats into their proper place.

The Potions Master had to admit the fact that Hagrid could perform any sort of magic at all with a broken wand and only three years of formal training was a testament to the half-giant's innate magical ability. Had his fate chosen a different course, Hagrid might have been a formidable wizard.

Severus pushed the boathouse door open slowly, allowing the slow creek to announce his presence. Hagrid had been using magic to secure the oars to the punts to the wall. Severus' intrusion had startled the half-giant and when Hagrid suddenly turned to see who had caught him, one of the little boats fell half-way off the wall and knocked Hagrid on the head. The boat's stern splintered into a hundred pieces, but Hagrid did no more than rub his head, as if he had only been hit by an annoying acorn falling from a tree.

"Pr'fessor Snape! I did'na see ya standin' there," Hagrid said nervously.

Severus supressed a smirk and waved his wand. The wooden shards of the punt gathered themselves back together and the boat settled into its proper hook on the wall.

"The headmaster told me I might find you here," Severus explained, tucking his ebony coloured wand into his equally dark hued robes.

"I was wonderin' if ya might come see me," Hagrid replied soberly as he gently placed his umbrella on a work bench. His great shoulders heaved with a sigh, as if grateful Severus had not called him out on his transgression. "Jus' was'na expectin' ya so soon."

Severus shoved his hands inside his cloak pockets to hide his nervous twitching. "Why would you be expecting me at all?"

Hagrid took a rope from off the wall and bent far over to pull the last punt into position on the dock. At least one boat had to remain on the water in case of emergency. "Well…when Dumbledore asked me ta deliver young Harry's Hogwarts letter, I was expectin' him ta look like James Potter. I was little takin' aback when I realised he didn't…but the tyke's face was still somehow familiar. Then it hit me when he walked into the Great Hall tonight."

"He looked like me," Severus answered dispassionately. He did not want Hagrid to see how much he had been affected.

Hagrid finished tying off the boat and stood to his full height. He placed his hands in the small of his back and stretched back. "Actually, he reminded me a bit of yer mum. But I made the connection, if ya know what I mean," he admitted. He gave a slight groan as he relieved the kinks in his back.

"Hagrid, I need you not to say a word to anyone about this. As it is, I'm not certain if it's true." It worried him that the half-giant already suspected so much. Hagrid was infamous for having a loose tongue when we was off his trolley.

"Can'na say it's anyone else's business, now isn'it?"

"No it isn't," Severus agreed with a sigh. "Hagrid, why did you have to hand deliver Mr Potter's letter?"

"For some reason, he was'n getting' them. Emptied out the Owlery, they did. Me an' Pr'fessor McGonagall were the only ones other than Dumbledore who knew where 'Arry was put into hidin', see. McGonagall was busy notifyin' the Muggle-borns so Dumbledore sent me."

Severus found himself somewhat reassured that Hagrid had managed to keep Harry's hiding place secret all of these years. Maybe he wouldn't have to Obliviate the gentle-giant.

"What happened when you delivered the letter?"

"Well, if truth be told, Pr'fessor, I don' think I handled the situation all so good," Hagrid admitted sheepishly.

Severus listened carefully as Hagrid told him of the night he barged into the hut the Dursleys had been camping in. Not taking into account his abnormal strength on the friable Muggle hut, the half-giant did a sight more than knock on the door—he knocked the door down. The fact that his intrusion happened at midnight when the entire family had been sleeping did not lend itself to harmonious introductions from the Dursleys.

Hagrid said he had been met by Vernon Dursley wielding a Muggle weapon. From the description he gave, Severus thought it might be a shotgun. This stuck him as odd, being that the Dursleys lived in the suburbs and from what little Severus recalled of Lily's description of Petunia's husband, he very much doubted Vernon Dursley was a sportsman. Legally acquiring such a weapon is a long and difficult process. Severus should know. His own father had applied for a firearms licence and been denied one on several occasions—thank Merlin. He wondered if Harry's uncle acquired the weapon via the illegal route and what would possess the man to take such a huge risk. Severus had to admit to himself, if he were a Muggle and any man barged into his home, much less a man the size of a small lorry, he would have met the threat with the most deadly weapon he could find too.

According to Hagrid, the Dursley's were on holiday when he managed to find them after the tracking spells had led him all across the countryside. The location made no sense to Severus. Why would anyone chose to holiday in a dilapidated shack on a rock in the middle of the Channel? From Hagrid's description, there weren't even proper beds for the boys to sleep in the cold and draughty hut.

Hagrid mentioned that Harry dressed in clothed that were oversized and unclean. Severus had seen Muggle youth dressed in such a manner on the streets of Cokeworth and in the markets of Manchester. He was certain it was the current generation's rebellion against authority. Well, if the boy began showing any signs of insolence or disrespect here at Hogwarts, Severus would see that they were jacked in quickly. Then Hagrid said something that greatly concerned Severus. In the heat of her diatribe, Petunia had called Lily a filthy slag. It was enough to make Severus want to Apparate to Surrey and hex the horse-faced shrew's tongue out right then.

"Then she called poor Harry a…," Hagrid hesitated. What little of his cheeks Severus could discern through the matted beard on Hagrid's face was red from righteous anger. "Well…I can'na repeat what she done said, and I should'n be held accountable fer what I did. Usin' that kinda language aroun' children," he added defensively.

"You have nothing to fear from me," Severus assured Hagrid coolly. "What did Hor...erm…Petunia, say to make you hex her?" Severus just managed to catch himself. He had nearly referred to Petunia as Horse-face. Proof that the habits of childhood were wont to die hard.

Hagrid seemed unsure as his beetle-like eyes darted about, looking to see if there was anyone else who might overhear. "She…she…." Hagrid swallowed hard before he rushed out his next words. "She called the little tyke the bastard of a freak."

Those words stung Severus to the quick. How many times had Petunia called him and Lily freaks? But to call Harry a bastard of a freak…did Petunia suspect something?

"Did you tell the headmaster of this?" Severus inquired. How much did Dumbledore know?

Hagrid scratched the back of his head and said sheepishly, "I was goin' ta, but Harry asked me ta let it pass. He didn't seem put-out by it. Said the whole family was scared of magic—tha' they tend to overreact sometimes, is all."

If Hagrid wasn't three times his size, Severus felt he might throttle him. The fact that Harry was blasé about Petunia's insults and her husband's tendency for violence disturbed Severus. Most considered Hagrid's naiveté as part of his charm, but for adult of the gamekeeper's age, such ingenuousness could prove to be a dangerous thing. Severus could not imagine the boy being so unmoved by the Dursley's behaviour if it wasn't a common occurrence. He wouldn't have a chance to speak to Harry's aunt and uncle until the weekend—not that he expected the full truth from Petunia and her husband. But what if the truth was unthinkable? How would Severus find out?

Severus' didn't think he could get anything else useful from Hagrid so he excused himself to leave. He stopped at the door when Hagrid called out to him.

"Pr'fessor. I'm not going to ask why. I know you ta be a good soul and you would never hurt Lily, thick as thieves you were here at Hogwarts… but do you really think that Harry could be yours?"

Severus took a moment to school his features before he turned again to the gamekeeper, "What do you think?" he asked dispassionately.

"I think you would'n be here unless you did."

Severus stalked away from the boathouse. Even if Hagrid miraculously managed to keep his suspicions to himself, the credulous giant was able to put two and two together and realise that Lily may not have been the saint that history and Albus Dumbledore had painted her to be. If Hagrid could make the connection between Severus and Harry, then it would only be a matter of time before others would.

Doubtless, others would not believe so readily that the circumstances behind Harry's conception were conceptual. Severus had a dark past and many would immediately expect the unthinkable of him rather than think that Lily could be unfaithful to James Potter, if only for a brief time. Severus' analytical mind kept screaming at him that Harry's resemblance to him was strictly coincidental. It had been a brief affair, abruptly cut short for reasons that remained unknown to him, but Lily and James had been together for…. Try though he might, Severus could not deny it. The timing was right and looking at the boy was like peering into a mirror of the past.

Severus could survive the scrutiny, the uncomfortable questions, and the unwarranted accusations— but could Harry? Perhaps it would be better for Harry if Severus said nothing and simply denied everything once the hard questions began to be asked. But how could he do it? Even if Harry never knew the truth, Severus always would.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two young boys sat excitedly on the edges of their beds. One was tall for his age with red hair and freckles, and the other, fair, with emerald eyes behind round glasses. Hidden underneath the fringe of his stringy, raven-black hair was a peculiar scare shaped like a lightning bolt.

Harry Potter had just met his new friend, Ron Weasley, that very morning on the train to Hogwarts. Ron looked just like the rest of his family—all red hair and freckles. Harry had never seen a family the size of the Weasleys. So far, Harry had met Ron's mum, his little sister, and three of his older brothers, and that wasn't even the lot of them. Ron seemed to be a little put out being in the middle of such a large family. One older brother had been Head Boy and another, captain of the school Quidditch team. Now Percy, the oldest at Hogwarts now, was just named a Prefect. He was nice enough to Harry, but he seemed a bit bossy to Ron and their other brothers, the twins, Fred and George. Despite the fact that Ron seemed to be lost in such a large family, Harry couldn't help but feel envious that it was obvious that his new friend belonged somewhere.

Harry other dorm mates, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, and Dean Thomas, were already asleep. Harry had no idea how late it was, but he was too excited to sleep and Ron had proven himself a good friend by staying up with him.

"It's the last cauldron cake. You want?" Ron asked as he longingly eyed the flaky, sweet pastry that lay on the edge of Harry's bed.

"Nah," Harry replied, tossing the tasty treat to his new friend as he rubbed his belly. "I'm podged."

Harry grinned as Ron caught the pasty, eagerly tore it open and shoved half of it into his mouth. It felt so nice to have a friend to share with.

And it was true— Harry couldn't remember ever being so full in his life. Aunt Petunia had never let him eat until he had his fill. Harry could count on one hand how many times he was allowed a second helping, much less pudding or sweeties. The only time he was ever got such treats was when he went to his babysitter's house, Mrs Figg. Mrs Figg always let Harry indulge in whatever he wanted, but the house always smelled like cats and cabbages and that always threw off Harry's appetite.

Hogwarts was truly incredible, with its talking portraits, magical floating candles, and bewitched ceiling. It was like nothing Harry could have imagined in his wildest dreams. At the feast, Harry had been awestruck; he had never seen so much food in his entire life. It seemed Hogwarts served a bit of everything, even peppermint humbugs, which struck Harry as a bit odd.

As Harry listened to Ron's satisfied smackings, he couldn't help but think about that dark-haired teacher. Whenever Harry looked his way he would get the strangest pain in his scar. Harry had never had pain in his scar before.

Percy told him that the teacher's name was Professor Snape. In fact, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Professor Snape was looking at him. It was kinda weird. Harry would get this strange feeling that he was being watched, but when he looked up at the Head table Professor Snape was looking elsewhere or talking to the teacher next to him—the one with the purple turban.

"Ron?" Harry began.

"Mmph?" Ron responded with a full mouth, causing more than a few crumbs to fly from his lips.

"That teacher, Professor Snape, I think he was watching us. Why do you suppose that was?"

Ron shrugged and swallowed loudly. "Fred and George say he is a real git and hates Gryffindors—always taking points for no reason, assigning awful detentions and favouring the Slytherins." Ron snorted. "He was probably was wondering which one of us he would torture first. I sure do hope Potions are not the first class on our timetable tomorrow." Ron yawned loudly and crawled beneath his duvet. "I don't know about you but I'm knackered. G'night,Harry."

"I am too. Night, Ron," Harry replied softly. As he climbed into his incredibly soft bed, Harry could have sworn that he had caught Professor Snape staring at him just once. But contrary to what Ron had said, Harry saw no malice in the professor's eyes. If anything, Harry thought he looked curious…or maybe something Harry couldn't quite place.

Harry was sure of one thing, though— it was not hate or disgust. Thanks to his relatives, Harry was all-too familiar with those looks.

Harry decided not to worry about it anymore. For the first time in his memory, he didn't have to worry about anything. His belly was full, his bed was warm, he had a friend, and he was safe inside Hogwarts. Harry rolled over on his side, pulled his soft covers up to his chin, and closed his eyes. His last thought before he drifted off to sleep was that never remembered being so comfortable.


	3. Chapter 3

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts and Harry was quite sure they all wanted to make it difficult for the first years to make it to class on time. Everything seemed to move, the people and animals in all the portraits, the coats of armour, and even the walls themselves.

Hindering them also was the fact that it usually seemed like most of the older students felt it was beneath them to notice first years who were trying to manoeuvre through the dense crowds in unfamiliar corridors. The fact that Harry was the smallest boy in his year only compounded his problems. He and Ron had been nearly run over five times that morning by much larger students. It all made the simple business of arriving to class on time seem quite daunting first thing in the morning. By now, Harry and Ron should have been in Transfiguration, but instead they were racing up stairways to nowhere. The stairs they were presently riding had led to nothing but a blank, stone wall.

"Unbelievable! We're late now for sure!" Ron said as they raced back down the staircase in a desperate attempt to find their way to class. It was true—they were late. There were no more students lingering the corridors.

From her stern appearance at the Sorting, Harry was pretty sure Professor McGonagall wasn't a teacher to cross. Plus, she was his Head of House. He really didn't want to be late for her class.

"Come on, I think it might be this way, Ron!" Harry said with much more confidence than he felt.

As he blindly turned down the nearest corridor, Harry sped up into a jog. Unfortunately, as he turned back to see if Ron was still behind him, suddenly Harry wondered how he had missed the stone wall he had just ran into. Falling backward, arms pin-wheeling in the air, Harry squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable impact with the stone floor.

But his collision with the floor never occurred. The sensation of his backwards free-fall ceased when Harry felt a very large hand grab his shoulder and fixed him upright. Harry's eyes flew open wide and his panic was renewed when he found himself staring into the black depths of Professor Snape's eyes. He hadn't run into a wall—he blindly smacked straight into a giant bat.

Harry looked up at the dark, mysterious professor. There was something about his quiet and menacing manner that Harry found even scarier than any of Uncle Vernon's enraged ranting. Fred and George had explained all about how evil Professor Snape was, and how he liked to set Gryffindor firsties detentions with Mr Filtch so they could be hung by chains along the dungeon walls for all of this Slytherins to take the mickey out of.

Harry gasped and winced slightly waiting for the expected punishment from the feared teacher, but like his fall, it too never came. To Harry's astonishment, Professor Snape's reaction was hardly a mild rebuke.

"Mr Potter," Professor Snape said calmly, as he released Harry's shoulders. "If I am not mistaken, your first class this morning is Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, is it not? Why aren't you there?"

Harry wondered if he looked as gormless as he felt. How did Professor Snape know his schedule? Perhaps Fred and George were right—Professor Snape really did read minds.

"I...I...yes, sir," Harry stammered.

Harry had never heard the Professor speak before. To his surprise, it was kind of a nice voice. Sort of deep and soft, like the voice he would hear in his dreams where his Dad was still alive and would tell him reassuring bedtime stories to keep the demons away—like in Dudley's story time videos that Harry would listen to through his cupboard door when he was very little. It was quite different from his Uncle and Aunt who seemed to always find some excuse to bellow and screech at Harry.

However, because his usual dealings with adults rarely ended in his favour, Harry remained wary and took a tentative step back from Professor Snape's dark and imposing figure. He looked behind his shoulder in hopes of finding any witnesses should the Potions Master turn him into a newt and sighed with relief when he noticed that Ron had finally caught up with him. His ginger-haired friend paled, causing his freckles to stand out in stark relief… so much for Gryffindor bravery.

"Ah, Mr Weasley...another wayward Gryffindor, I see."

Harry put his hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle as Ron struggled for something to say that wouldn't get him in anymore trouble.

"Follow me. I'll never hear the end of it if I allow two of Professor McGonagall's precious lions fall victim to Peeves. The nuisance managed to get his slimly little hands on a Fanged Frisbee. I suspect a couple of _Weasley's_ are behind it," Professor Snape said darkly. The professor gave Ron a sinister glare and Harry thought his poor friend might just pass out.

Harry and Ron were both waiting for some form of torturous punishment that should have belonged to Fred and George to befall them, but instead, Professor Snape turned away so quickly, Harry and Ron just stood there and dumbly blinked as the professor's black robes billowed in his wake.

"Well?" Professor Snape snapped without ever looking back.

Harry and Ron ran to catch up with the dark figure. They turned the corner where at least a dozen suites of armour stood at attention on either side of them. They hadn't taken two steps when Professor Snape halted suddenly, causing Harry to nearly run into him again. His eye's narrowed as if sensing something that Harry and Ron could not. The imposing professor had somehow pulled his wand so quickly from his robes, Harry hadn't even seen him move. He lowered his free hand and gestured for Harry and Ron to stay close behind.

Then, the oddest thing happened. Far down the corridor, the face mask of one of the suits of armour slowly opened and a strange lime-green disk emerged from it. It hovered menacingly for what seemed like forever before it suddenly flew at lightning-fast speed straight for them. Harry and Ron both gasped, because without warning, the flying disk started snarling and gnashing sharp teeth.

Professor Snape easily stepped to one side as the disk flew past, keeping Harry and Ron safely behind his back. As the disk whizzed by in a green blur, Professor Snape raised his wand and in a flash, it exploded into a sparkling, green cloud and fizzled away.

"Peeves, show yourself this instant," Professor Snape said forcefully.

An unseen someone blew a loud raspberry and the same suit of armour the Frisbee appeared from and clattered to the floor in a heap.

"Very well, I'll have a word with the Bloody Baron."

Suddenly there was a sharp pop, like a cork coming out of a bottle of fizzy drink, and a very strange looking, small man appeared floating in the air just in front the professor.

"Ooooh!" he said with a wicked cackle as he looked over Professor Snape's shoulder. The strange man skirted past the professor and began circling so low over Harry and Ron's heads, they had to duck. "What's this? A little, itty, bitty Snivelly, I see. "

"I'm not snivelly!" Harry protested loudly as he boldly shook his fist at the phantasm.

"Neither am I!" Ron said just as fiercely.

"Enough!" Snape hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Harry wasn't sure if Professor Snape was angry at him or the ghost-man. "Peeves, if you don't leave now, I'll have the Bloody Baron dogging your every move until Judgment Day."

At the threat, Peeves stopped his incessant circling and gave Professor Snape a two-fingered salute before he zoomed away in the opposite direction.

"Sir, was that a ghost?" Harry asked as he and Ron ran to catch up with Snape, who started striding down the corridor again without warning.

"No, Peeves is a poltergeist," Professor Snape replied, stowing his wand back into the folds of his cloak. "A poltergeist set on creating chaos and mayhem." He looked down at Harry and Ron as they continued to struggle keeping up with his long strides. "If you ever find yourself alone in a face to face confrontation with Peeves, simply threaten him with the Bloody Baron. He'll leave you alone quickly enough."

Harry wasn't exactly sure what the difference between a ghost and a poltergeist was, but since it really wasn't going to keep him up at nights, he decided to let it go.

"But the Bloody Baron is the Slytherin ghost, sir," Ron said timidly. "He won't help us. We're Gryffindors."

"The Baron will answer to whomever I tell him to," Professor Snape said ambiguously. Harry and Ron looked at each other with astonishment. What on earth did _that_ mean? Harry was beginning to wonder if this really was Professor Snape. Maybe he got his professors mixed up, because although this teacher seemed stern, he didn't seem like the evil bat that every other Gryffindor had described.

"Sir…what do you teach?" Harry asked, feeling pretty confident he wouldn't end up in Professor Snape's cauldron now.

"Potions," the professor said curtly. "Fortunately for you and Mr Weasley, my Seventh-year NEWTS don't begin for another hour. How you two managed to be halfway across the castle from your destination is beyond me."

So this really was Professor Snape. Now Harry was really confused and knew that Ron must be doubly so. From his very limited experience with the dour professor Harry was certain he wouldn't end up in detention so he decided to actually answer. "We're sorry, sir. Ron and I overslept. By the time we were ready everyone but the older students were gone and they looked like they didn't want to be bothered."

"Yeah, so we ended up asking one of the portraits," Ron added.

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed. A funny little line formed between them. "Which portrait?"

"I'm not rightly sure, sir," Harry admitted as he looked at Ron who only shrugged back at him. "He said his name was Sir Cardigan, but he was moving around from painting to painting. So we don't know where he came from."

Professor Snape stopped suddenly and the oddest, confused look came over his face. "Sir Cardig…? Do you mean Sir _Cadogan_?"

Harry nodded. "That's him."

Harry wasn't sure if Professor Snape was going to laugh or spit, but in the end he just said, "Word to the wise, Mr Potter—Mr Weasley, Sir Cadogan's sanity is questionable at best. Next time, ask an older student. I'm sure they won't bite, even if they are Gryffindors."

Professor Snape resumed their quest to find Professor McGonagall's classroom, Harry heard Snape mumble something he was certain wasn't meant for his young ears. "Bloody oil stain's a menace."

Harry and his friend continued to follow the teacher down three floors, zigging and zagging so many different way through the halls, Harry was quite positive he would never learn his way around the enormous castle.

Finally, they arrived outside the door of what Harry presumed to be the Transfiguration classroom, Professor Snape unceremoniously jerked the door open and ushered them into the room. Just as they stepped across the threshold, a grey tabby cat that had been sitting atop a desk on the front dais gracefully jumped and turned into Professor McGonagall mid-leap.

"Wow!" Harry and Ron said in unison, thoroughly impressed.

Professor Snape merely smirked and arched an eyebrow at the display. "I see you're still performing the same party tricks you did twenty years ago," Snape commented dryly. "I believe you are missing two of your lions. I found these two lost and had it not been for my timely arrival, they would have been utterly at the mercy of Peeves. I think you should better prepare your first years, Professor McGonagall."

At that point, Harry didn't know who was the scarier of the two teachers, Snape or McGonagall. For some reason Professor Snape seemed to be angry with Harry's Head of House and she seemed equally as cross that Professor Snape had criticized her in front of the entire class. Neither professor seemed like one to be trifled with.

Professor McGonagall frowned with her lips pursed tightly as his she were trying to hold something back. "Thank you, Professor Snape," she said tersely. "I'll see to Potter and Weasley from here." Her eyes moved over them, seeming to settle on Harry longer than Ron and Harry couldn't help but squirm under her scrutiny.

"I trust that you two can find your seats without much difficulty."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Harry and Ron said in unison once again. They scuttled quickly to the two remaining empty seats. As the potions teacher turned to exit the classroom, Harry heard Professor McGonagall speak again.

"Sever... _Professor Snape,_ if you don't mind, would you join me in my office later for tea?" Harry was sure by her tone, it wasn't just a request.

Professor Snape merely nodded his agreement as he swept out of the room. The interaction caused a low murmur of disbelief and speculation to ripple across the room.

* * *

Fortune had smiled on Severus that day. By happy coincidence his regular office hours were first thing in the morning that day. Rather than go over the same lesson plans he had taught year after year, he decided to take a stroll. If that stroll happened to take him past the Transfiguration corridor, then so be it.

He purposely sat next to Minerva that morning at breakfast as the Deputy Headmistress always reviewed the timetables of her First-years one final time before she distributed them. A silent _Confundus_ to distract her attention right about the time she came across the mid-Ps was all he needed to steal a glance at Harry's schedule. Severus supposed he could have simply have asked Albus for a copy, but where was the fun in that? It served her right anyway. If she continued to cut Severus furtive little glances, he would have had to hex out her eyes. That would not have boded well for his continued employment.

Severus watched carefully as small groups of children found their way to Minerva's classroom, circling wide berths around him as if he were carrying Dragon Pox. Not that it mattered to Severus. He didn't care much for children. Oh…he didn't hate them, but he didn't rightly like them either. He was pondering the paradox of being a teacher with no love of children when he noticed that the crowds were thinning and there had still been no sign of Harry Potter. It was then that he began to worry.

He finally enlisted the help of a couple of portraits that informed him that Harry and his friend were on the opposite end of the castle and making their way to the Hall of Armour, the favourite haunt of Peeves the Poltergeist. Severus took a shortcut _via_ a secret staircase and arrived just in time to stumble across Harry—almost quite literally—when the boy took a header into Severus' _celiac plexus_. Harry and the current-youngest Weasley kit had been running late as they were set astray by that bloody Sir Cadogan. That waste of piss and pigment couldn't find is way around his own painting, much less find his way around the castle. It was a shame that the secret stairway was actually a secret, otherwise he could have avoided leading the children down Peeves' favourite haunt.

Severus sighed as he continued his wool-gathering and his trek to Minerva's office. He knew perfectly well what this meeting was about. She too, had obviously made the connection between Severus and Harry and the old-cat couldn't leave well-enough alone. Perhaps he should have hexed her eyes out at breakfast?

The Transfiguration classroom was empty, just as all of the classrooms were. With the exception of extracurricular activities and Astronomy, lessons were over for the day and most students were on their way to the Great Hall for dinner.

He hated being called to her office like this. Severus knew it wasn't a request to share tea, but rather an order to explain himself. Rather like that time in Fourth-year when Sirius Black mysteriously sprouted an asses tail in McGonagall's Transfiguration lesson. Severus tried to explain that he was simply practicing his wand movement when the spell accidentally erupted. It wasn't his fault that Black was in the line of fire. Minerva didn't buy it for a second. _Bugger!_

Severus crossed the classroom floor, feeling as though he were marching to a funeral dirge. When he reached the door, he stood up straight and gathered his composure. He wasn't Professor McGonagall's student anymore. He was an adult and Minerva's colleague. He convinced himself that he had nothing to fear as he knocked confidently on the door.

"Come in, Severus."

Severus blew out a hard breath before entered. He knew that voice. This was not going to be a pleasant tea.

"Minerva," Severus said evenly as he sat himself in the empty chair across from her desk. "You wished to see me?"

Minerva played mother and poured him a cup of tea as a plate of sandwiches popped on to the desk. Her face was set tighter than the bun on her head. Severus took the offered tea and a Marmite and cheese sandwich. He really didn't feel like eating. His stomach was flopping about as if he had swallowed a live fish. But he needed to have something handy to cram down his throat if the conversation went south. He could get away with more insults than many of his fellow professors, but there was a limit to everything.

"Yes, Severus, there is something—or rather, _someone_ I want to discuss with you," Minerva said as she settled back into her chair with a cup of tea in hand.

Severus casually blew on his tea before taking a sip. "Would you care to enlighten me or would you rather play guessing games?"

Minerva placed her cup on the table and it clattered lightly. "You've always appreciated candour, so I'll be blunt—Did you know?"

Severus took a bite of his sandwich and swallowed it down hard. He had to take another sip of tea to keep from choking on it.

"Did I know what, Minerva? That Peeves was lying in ambush? That Albus wears mismatched socks? That the Boy Who Lived bears a striking resemblance to Hogwarts' current Potions Master? Do tell—which one of the mysteries do you need an answer to?"

Minerva rubbed her forehead as if nursing a growing headache. "Severus, will you please be serious. I must admit, I was up most of the night fretting over this. I was convinced that I must be losing my senses."

"Don't worry," Severus said then tossed his head back as he finished off his tea. "We aren't carting you off to a care home, yet."

Minerva reached over the table and Severus handed her his cup. "You hardly sound reassuring," she said as she refilled his cup. She opened up a drawer and pulled out a flask. She showed it to Severus and he nodded. Minerva added a splash of the brown liquor to his cup and then twice as much to hers.

"But to answer your question—no—I did not know about Harry until last night."

Minerva seemed to sigh with relief. "Severus, I nearly fell over when little Harry came up to be sorted," she admitted. Minerva sipped her tea, and Severus noticed how she braced herself with the liquid courage. "I saw that same face walk into the Great Hall twenty years ago, and I am not referring to James Potter. Now either Albus has created a concoction to change the boy's appearance for some deep game that is beyond me or you are the boy's father."

From the sound of her voice, Severus was sure that Minerva considered her latter suggestion an impossibility and she only meant to tease him.

Severus again slowly drank his tea, taking comfort from the slow burn that trickled down his throat. He never bothered to answer Minerva verbally, but only gave her a meaningful look. It didn't take long for Minerva to decipher it.

"Severus! What did you do to poor Lily?" Minerva gasped, clutching at her chest.

Severus levelled a dagger-like stare in the Transfiguration teacher's direction, "We had sex, as that is generally how these things are done."

"But...how can that be? Lily would have never...Did that that monster make you…?"

"Of course not!" Severus bellowed as he rose from his chair. "I assure you it was quite consensual. Do you honestly think that I could…that I would… _rape Lily_?" He could literally taste is bile in the last words.

Without knowing how, Severus found himself staring out Minerva's window. There were a group of Gryffindors gathering in the court yard followed by some curious Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Young Mr Thomas must be a Muggle-born. He had placed a Muggle football on the ground and seemed to be instructing his friends on the particulars of the game. Severus smiled inside when he noticed Harry amongst them.

"I'm sorry, Severus," Minerva said. She was standing just behind his shoulder. "I know you and Lily were thick as thieves for years. I assumed you had a falling out over your…associations. I know she loved James deeply, so I won't pretend that I understand."

"She did love… _him…_ deeply. But his missions for the Order took him away for weeks at a time with no word. And I'm sorry to destroy your saccharine notions of the sainted Potters, but they were human…and Lily was often lonely."

"You had a love affair," Minerva stated stoically, obviously hurt by Lily's betrayal of Potter.

Severus nodded; glad that he wasn't facing Minerva so she could see his pain. "I'll spare you the details, but it was only the one time…a moment of weakness for the both of us that Lily instantly regretted. She and Potter were not yet married, but they were engaged."

"How are you going to tell him?"

Funny that Minerva knew Severus so well. He wasn't one-hundred percent certain that Harry was his, but he knew he would find out. And what if his suspicions were true? He didn't know if he should tell Harry, but somehow he knew he would.

As he looked out the window Harry had managed to score a goal against the opposing team that seemed to be captained by none other than Mr Thomas. Harry basked in the praise and cheers of his friends and Severus felt a sense of pride he had never experienced before. He had no legal or scientific proof that Harry was his yet, but he found himself desperately hoping it was true. Harry would be his proof, that if only for a short time, Lily's heart had belonged to Severus and he could live happily on that for the rest of his life.

"Severus?"

Minerva had startled him from his musings. "I'm sorry. What did you say, Minerva?"

"I asked, how are you going to tell him."

Severus breathed deeply and tore himself away from the window. "I'm not sure yet. First, I need to find a way to confirm that he is mine."


	4. Chapter 4

 

By the time Friday arrived, Harry was quite relieved to discover he wasn't too far behind his classmates. Many came from Muggle homes, just like him, and hadn't known anything about magic either. Even the kids from magical homes, like Ron, didn't have much of a head start because there was just so much stuff to learn. He had another cause to celebrate. By the end of the week, Harry and Ron had finally found their way to the Great Hall without getting lost.

"What do we have first today?" Harry asked Ron as he dumped sugar and cream into his porridge. Harry had never been allowed such luxuries at the Dursleys' and was now taking advantage of his new-found freedom.

"Bugger! Double Potions with the Slytherins," Ron said miserably, looking at his timetable. "Snape is Slytherin's Head of House. Fred and George say he favours them. I guess we'll see if it's true."

"Too bad McGonagall doesn't show us favour," Harry said, scooping up a large bite of his porridge and shoving it into his mouth, enjoying the sweet creamy taste. Professor McGonagall was their Head of House, but she had still set a load of homework for them. Harry doubted Professor Snape would take sympathy.

"I guess we shouldn't be too worried," Ron said as he tucked into his breakfast. "Fred and George were probably just winding us up. The professor didn't seem as bad as they said he was the other day."

Harry nearly dumped his porridge out of his spoon when the Great Hall suddenly came alive with the flapping wings and hoots and shrieks of owls delivering the mail. Hedwig had not brought Harry any letters or packages, of course. This was to be expected, his relatives were certainly not going to be sending him anything. He had a momentary twinge of disappointment, but swallowed it back with a gulp of pumpkin juice.

But still, Hedwig would fly in each morning to visit Harry and get bit of his bacon and a scratch on her head before she flew gracefully back to the Owlery. Despite the lack of a letter, it made Harry smile and was a welcome start to his day.

But much to his surprise this morning was different. Hedwig actually dropped a letter on Harry's plate nearly launching his bacon across the table. Harry eagerly ripped it open to see who would have sent him a letter. It was from Hagrid, inviting Harry to tea in his hut that afternoon when his lessons were over. Harry happily scribbled out a short note on the back of the letter saying he would like that and sent it off with Hedwig— after giving her an extra piece of his crispy bacon, of course.

After breakfast, Harry and Ron trudged reluctantly down into the damp, chilly dungeons. Harry wondered why Potions lessons were held in the dungeon. He thought maybe they were so awful it was like being held captive in prison.

When they arrived in the dungeon classroom, Harry found them to be even darker and creepier than the dungeon corridors. He supposed it was the slimy and unrecognisable creatures preserved in jars of different shapes and sizes lined along shelves on the walls. He shivered, because he could have sworn that an eyeball floating around with others in some murky, yellow liquid had blinked at him. Maybe Fred and George were right. Professor Snape did cut up his bad students into potions ingredients after all.

Harry and Ron barely arrived on time and they quickly found their seats next to a bushy-haired Gryffindor girl. Harry remembered her from the train ride and the Sorting. He was pretty sure her name was Hermione. It was such an unforgettable name once it was stuck in his head. She was furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment, but stopped just long enough to give them a critical look, as if they were really late.

Harry wondered how she could possibly be taking notes already. The lecture hadn't even started yet. But once he thought about it, Harry decided perhaps having his supplies out early wasn't such a bad idea, so he pulled his own quill, ink, and parchment from his bag. Taking notes wouldn't hurt, and even though he would never admit it to Ron, he was kind of excited about Potions. Science was his favourite subject in Primary. He managed to glance over the textbook during the summer and was amazed by all the different types of potions and what could be done with them.

The entire class jumped in their seats when the door suddenly flew open, noisily crashing against the stone wall. Professor Snape strode determinedly into the classroom, his black robes billowing behind him as if they would take to flight. The effect was very menacing.

Professor Snape reached the dais, turned quickly, and faced the class. The dark, cool manner in which he spoke set another round of chills down Harry's spine. "There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is Potion making. However, for those select few who possess the predisposition—," Professor Snape paused and for a moment Harry thought the teacher's dark eyes flicked in his direction. Harry grabbed up his quill and quickly began taking note of every word his teacher spoke.

"I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death. Then again—perhaps most of you have come to Hogwarts with abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not take notes. Why is Mr Potter the only one writing this down?"

There was a quick flurry of activity as the students reached for their parchment and quills. Harry turned to Hermione because he knew that she had been taking notes too. She looked a bit put-out and Harry didn't blame her. He had gotten the idea from her and yet Professor Snape hadn't recognised her effort.

Someone must have done something on the Slytherin half of the room because Professor Snape's attention shifted over there from Harry. Malfoy was sniggering as if he found something funny. Apparently, Professor Snape didn't find it very funny because he was giving Draco Malfoy the most menacing glare Harry had ever seen. Harry sincerely hoped the professor would never look at him like that. Draco either didn't notice that Professor Snape was approaching him as he whispered to his friends sitting on either side of him, or he just wasn't very concerned. Harry thought either way was a colossally stupid mistake.

Harry remembered Draco and didn't like him at all. Harry first met the blonde boy the day he went shopping in Diagon Alley with Hagrid. He made Harry nervous because he kept questioning Harry about his parents and Harry didn't know how to answer. They met again on the Hogwarts Express. The way he openly insulted Ron's family, Harry knew that Malfoy was a pompous prig that he would never get along with. Malfoy was the reason Harry wasn't in Slytherin himself. Malfoy had already been sorted into Slytherin and Harry did not want to follow him, so he talked the Sorting Hat out of sending him there. Harry spent enough of his life living amongst bullies. Now he was away from the Dursleys, he didn't want to be condemned at his new school to the same fate.

"Mr Malfoy," the professor said darkly, "what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione's hand flew into the air; nearly smacking the side of Harry's head on the way up, just as Malfoy's attention finally snapped to the professor.

Malfoy looked rather stunned, as if he wasn't sure if it was some kind of trick. But Harry didn't think that Professor Snape was the type to pull tricks. Harry was glad Professor Snape hadn't asked him that question, because he certainly didn't know the answer. He suddenly wished he had read more of his potion's text if that was the kind of questions they would be asked.

Harry had to crane his head to look around Ron so he could see what was happening at the other table. Every eye in the room seemed to be on Malfoy, except for Hermione's. She was still waving her hand frantically trying to get Professor Snape's attention.

It looked like Malfoy didn't know the answer because he was obviously at a loss. For a moment he seemed to struggle for an answer until he finally stammered, "I…I don't know, sir."

"Hmm...Then let's try another, shall we? Tell me, Mr Malfoy," Snape said curtly, "where would I look if I wanted to find a Bezoar?"

Malfoy just stared unbelievingly up at the tall, dark figure. He was clearly at a loss for words. "I…I…"

"Pity—clearly your father has overpaid your private tutor."

Professor Snape leaned in closer to Malfoy. Malfoy leaned back, his face paler than a ghost's. His two gormless looking friends, Crabbe and Goyle, scooted away in their chairs in an effort to put some distance between themselves and Snape's victim. The professor spoke so softly, Harry could barely make out what he had said. "Next time, Mr Malfoy, you will think well enough to keep from making rude gestures at your fellow students in class and you won't be called out. Am I understood?"

Malfoy nodded dumbly. Harry honestly thought the arrogant git was going to cry.

Professor Snape turned and marched back up to the dais. No one dared to laugh or giggle behind his back, though Harry could tell that some students had to make an effort at it.

"One point will be given to Gryffindor, for Mr Potter's excellent note taking. Ms Granger, put your arm down, you silly girl. You're going to poke Mr Potter's eye out, waving it about like that."

Hermione put her hand down in a huff, but at least no one had laughed at her.

There were, however, poorly suppressed gasps of surprise rippling through the Gryffindor side of the room, and the Slytherins seemed to be in a state of mild shock. Harry understood why. Word had it that Professor Snape never awarded points to Gryffindor.

After giving a hurried explanation the monkshood and wolfsbane were the same plant and that one could find a Bezoar in the stomach of a goat—a concept that Harry found gross, yet morbidly fascinating—Professor Snape started talking about simple potions. Much to Harry's delight, they would actually get the chance to brew one on the very first day.

When it was time for the practical part of the lesson, with a flick of Professor Snape's wand, the directions on how to brew a Boil Cure magically appeared on the blackboard.

Once they began brewing, the professor glided silently up and down the aisles, his black cloak floating behind him like a giant shadow. As he glanced into each cauldron and snidely gave students suggestions on how to fix their deplorable potions.

"Don't put your porcupine quills in yet," Harry managed to whisper to Ron when the professor's attention was focused on Dean Thomas' cauldron. "You have to take it off the fire first."

Professor Snape glanced towards Harry and for a terrible moment, Harry thought the professor might have heard him give directions to Ron, but Professor Snape just moved on to Seamus Finnegan's cauldron and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, mate," Ron whispered back as he removed his cauldron from the heat, not daring to say more.

When it was their turn to be scrutinised, Harry and Ron gave auditable sighs of relief and smiled at each other when the professor declared that their potions were barely passable.

The professor was about to say something to Harry when Hermione screamed out, "No, Neville! It's too soon!"

Neville Longbottom was at the table directly in front of Hermione Granger. A loud hissing noise and an acid green smoke were coming from his cauldron.

"Move back, Mr Longbottom! _Evanesco!"_ Professor Snape bellowed as he pointed is wand and made his way around the table over to Neville. But it was too late.

Harry guessed that Professor Snape was trying to get rid of Neville's ruined potion, and had mostly succeeded, but in less than a second Neville's cauldron had melted into a molten mass of pewter as the potion erupted like an active volcano and everyone in close vicinity, including Harry, took shelter under their tables.

Harry, Ron and Hermione waited under their table for the green goo to rain down on them, but it never came. Cautiously, they emerged from their haven. Professor Snape had managed to rid most of the potion, but poor Neville had been too close. His face sprouted angry red boils.

"Idiot boy! Can't you read?" Professor Snape practically roared. "You! Ms Granger! Take him to the hospital wing," he snapped.

He whirled around and glared at Harry. Harry winced, waiting for some sort of rebuke or accusation. He was close enough to see what Neville had been doing. Perhaps he was going to be blamed, like when Aunt Petunia would blame him for ruining one of Dudley's new toys, when it really had been his cousin's fault all along. However, Professor Snape said nothing but seemed to scrutinize Harry from head to toe, before once again sweeping down the aisle checking student's cauldrons.

There wasn't much time left in the lesson when Hermione rushed Neville off to the hospital wing. There were muffled giggles on the Slytherin side of the room that were quickly silenced with one, dark, drawn-out word from Professor Snape. "Quiet."

What little time left in the lesson was uneventful and Harry and Ron sighed in relief as they left. They had survived their first potion's lesson.

"I should have known they were winding me up," Ron said as the trudged the stairs out of the dungeons. "Snape isn't exactly what I would call nice. In fact he was practically beastly to poor Neville. But he's not nearly the ogre the twins made him out to be. He even awarded you a point and Fred says he never gives Gryffindors House points."

Harry grinned, it was the first point he had earned for his house.

Ron changed the topic suddenly when he asked, "Can I come and meet Hagrid with you? Charlie really likes him. He was always talking about him. Apparently Hagrid is as mad about dragons as Charlie is."

"That'd be great," Harry said, "because I have no idea what we would talk about."

* * *

It was getting late and Harry and Ron rushed to get back to the castle before sunset. Having tea at Hagrid's had been interesting to say the least.

Hagrid lived in a small hut on the edge of the Dark Forest full of massive Hagrid-sized furniture and an equally massive Hagrid-sized, slobbering boarhound named Fang. The tea was okay, but Harry and Ron had to slip Hagrid's rock cakes under the table to Fang because they didn't think to bring a hammer and chisel. Harry thought they had to be made from real rocks.

Ron and Hagrid happily discussed dragons for a half-hour. Hagrid regaled the same story to Ron that he had told Harry earlier that summer; how he had wanted to own a dragon his whole life.

When Hagrid had asked how their day was Ron jumped in and said that Harry made a point for Gryffindor.

"Like Potions then, Harry?" Hagrid had asked.

"It wasn't bad," Harry admitted. "Ron and I managed to manage to pass our first practical."

"Ya musta done more than tha to get points from Profess'r Snape. He don't dole House points out like sweets, ya know."

Harry shrugged. "It was only one point. Nothing spectacular."

"Don't sell yerself short, Harry. I imagine you'll be a fair hand at Potions, jus like yer mum an dad."

Then Hagrid got a funny look on his face, as if he shouldn't had said something. When Harry asked him to tell him more about his parents, Hagrid went on and on, telling him how brilliant and popular Harry's mum, Lily, had been. He must not have known much about Harry's dad, because the only bit of extra information Harry managed to wheedle out of Hagrid was that Harry's father had been brilliant with potions as well as a fine Quidditch player.

The rest of their time at Hagrid's Ron had excitingly explained the finer points of Quidditch, and Harry had to admit the game sounded brilliant. He just didn't think he'd be a good enough flyer once he was old enough to try out for the House team.

But maybe if he inherited his parent's potions skills, maybe Harry inherited his dad's flying ability too. Harry wasn't sure how these things worked, especially in the Wizarding world.

"Finally," Harry panted as he and Ron made it to the castle doors. "I didn't think we'd make it."

"Come on then, Harry," Ron said. "If we hurry we can just catch supper before it's over. I'm starving."

Ron was right; they just had enough time to tuck into a sandwich and some crisps washed down with pumpkin juice before heading back to the common room.

" _Caput Draconis_ ," Harry said to a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress.

The fat lady bade them to enter as the portrait swung open to reveal the hidden doorway to the Gryffindor common room.

Inside the common room, students were spread out in little groups, some doing homework, some playing games and some just engaged in conversation. The chatter in the room switched to eerie silence when Harry and Ron stepped into the room. Harry looked quizzically to Ron who simply shrugged gormlessly.

From the silence, there came spattered clapping, in the far corner of the room, Fred, George, and their friend, Lee Jordan, where standing and cheering for Harry.

"Bravo, bravo!" The three cheered, soon followed by others in the room.

"Three cheers for our Gryffindor hero," Fred cried out. At least Harry thought it was Fred. Ron told him that Fred was the one that usually spoke first.

George followed with, "The only Gryffindor in Hogwarts history to win House points from the dungeon bat!"

Harry could feel his face flush with embarrassment as Ron cuffed him jovially on the shoulder. "It was only one point, nothing spectacular. Hermione has already won more points in Transfiguration and Charms," Harry said.

"Don't sell yourself short, Harry, "said the twin he thought was Fred.

"Honestly—old Snape has never given points to Gryffindors before," George reiterated.

Harry was rendered speechless when Lee Jordan asked, "Yeah—you wouldn't happen to be his kid or something, would you?"

"What a rotten thing to suggest," Ron said hotly.

Another, older student backed up Ron. "The kid's right, Lee. Sure, he might look a little like Snape, but there's no need to pick on him like that. Even if you are just kidding, that's how nasty rumours get started."

"I didn't mean to take the micky out of him," Lee said defensively. "It's true. He does look like Snape."

Ron turned and looked at Harry's face. Harry could feel all sorts of eyes on him at that moment. Ron's eyes furrowed as he studied Harry's features. "I suppose he does look a little like him…" Ron said musingly.

"I can't look like Snape," Harry said. "My aunt says that I look like my dad."

"That's easily explained." Percy's haughty voice interrupted the discussion. Apparently he had been listening in on the conversation from his vantage point at a study table in the corner. "Most Pureblood families are related. It's more likely that the Snapes are an obscure branch of the Potter family. Professor Snape is probably a distant cousin of Harry's."

"Really, Percy? Do you think Professor Snape might be my cousin?" Harry didn't mean to sound as eager as he was, but the thought of having a long-lost wizarding relative excited him. Anyone would be a better relative than the Dursleys—even Snape.

"It's a distinct possibility," Percy said, sounding even more pompous than he did the first time he spoke.

"That would explain why…"  
"…he gave you the point," the twins said.

"If he's related to Professor Snape and Professor Snape knows it, why didn't he say anything to Harry?" Harry hadn't noticed Hermione sitting alone in a wingback chair, listening in on the conversation with the rest of the common room.

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it's because Harry was sorted into Gryffindor rather than Slytherin."

"He's right." This time it was a dark girl who Harry guessed was about Fred and George's age who spoke up. "A lot of families take House rivalries very seriously. The Slytherins might not like it if their Head of House was related to a Gryffindor."

"Well, they didn't seem to like it much when he awarded me a House point right after he called out Malfoy," Harry said.

They all agreed that Professor Snape's behaviour that day was a mystery, even more so than his resemblance to Harry. Harry knew deep down that somehow the two were related, and he was determined to find out how.

* * *

"I am such an idiot!" Severus berated himself as he paced to and fro in front of the headmaster's desk. "I can't believe I awarded him points or that I admonished one of my own Snakes in front of the entire class!"

"Don't belittle yourself, Severus. You're one of the most brilliant wizards I know," Albus said patronizingly while never taking is nose out of his copy of _Transfiguration Today_. "Harry was setting a good example to the rest of the class whilst young Mr Malfoy shot your son a two-fingered salute. If anything, you let Mr Malfoy off easy. Now would you please sit down before you wear a hole in the carpet? "

Severus plopped himself ungracefully into the uncomfortable Queen Anne's chair in front of the headmaster's elaborate desk. A tea tray popped into existence on top of the desk and Albus put his journal down and began to pour out.

"You're not the only professor who will award the boy House points," Albus said as he put Severus' customary four sugars into the cup. Albus Dumbledore was probably the only living person aware that Severus had a sweet tooth, despite the fact that Severus loathed sherbet lemons. "You are worrying over nothing, my dear boy. The other teachers report that the boy is modest, likeable, and reasonably talented. Personally I find him a bright, engaging child. I think he's going to have a successful career here at Hogwarts."

Severus reached for the offered tea. "Of course he is intelligent—and engaging. He is Lily's child, after all.

"There you go again, Severus," Albus said as he poured out his own tea. "I'm sure your genes may have contributed somewhat to the boy's intelligence."

"I'm still not certain that he is mine," Severus said softly before blowing on his tea. "I'm not certain that I even want to know if he is."

Albus offered Severus a plate of biscuits. Severus chose two shortbread with jam before the headmaster took a chocolate biscuit for himself.

"Now you are being silly," Albus said. "Of course you want to find out if he is yours. It'll eat you up inside until you do."

Severus hated to admit it, but Albus was right. Severus had to know the truth. "There's a potion that can determine maternity sometimes used by orphans trying to find their birth mothers, but it isn't as reliable in discerning paternity."

"There are a couple of charms that could be useful, but it will require something from Harry and yourself—hair, blood, or skin."

"Well, I'm not about to go about pulling the boy's hair or poking him with needles," Severus said.

"No, no, nothing so invasive, my boy. But I do think we can 'kill two birds with one stone,' as the Muggles like to say."

"What do you mean?" Severus asked.

"I'm as curious as you are to find out about Harry's home life. I have a few hours available next Saturday. What do you say that you and I visit Harry's relatives next weekend? I'm certain we can find a hair or two on his pillowcase."

Severus was certain it was easier to go into the Harry's dorm and snatch a hair from the boy's pillow that way, but Harry's pillow couldn't answer Severus' questions the way Petunia could.

Severus' eyes narrowed as he steadied his thoughts. He said darkly, "I think it's been too long since I've seen dear, old, Tuney."


	5. Chapter 5

Severus strode purposefully through the Floo and into the Headmaster's office. The sun had just sunk into the horizon, and through the fenestres he could see the sky stained a deep violet hue in its wake. Severus peered around the circular office then absently brushed a trace of ash from the heavy black material of his traveling cloak. Dumbledore was waiting, predictably, wearing very flamboyantly styled wizard's robes in eye-watering shades of mint green and lavender with silver trim.

"Were you simply going to blind the Dursleys in an attempt to extract information from them?" Severus asked dryly as his employer stood then walked around his ornate desk.

"Under normal circumstances, I would attempt to wear a fashionable Muggle suit when making a visit to a student's home. It tends to make the Muggle parents and guardians much more at ease," Dumbledore replied as he smiled slyly at Severus. "However, under these circumstances, I am hardly concerned about the comfort of our hosts."

"At least we agree upon something," Severus replied derisively as he watched Dumbledore pull a battered and tarnished thimble from the folds of his robes.

"We'll be traveling by Portkey tonight, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Forgive me, I know it's not your favourite means of travel, but I think we can both agree we would prefer not to be seen by a certain person leaving the castle grounds."

Instantly, Severus thought of Quinerus Quirrell as being the person Dumbledore was referring to. Quirrell was the overly anxious Defence Against the Dark Arts professor who had recently returned from Albania. Dumbledore had asked Severus just before term started to keep an eye on his strange acting colleague. Before leaving for Albania to study the Dark Arts first hand, Quirrell had been a quiet, albeit brilliant professor who seemed quite content to teach Muggle Studies. But after his return, Severus couldn't help but notice that Quirrell's behaviour became odder by the day, not to mention the clear lack of proper hygiene.

The practically unbearable stench of garlic reeked from the ridiculous purple turban Quirrell had taken to wearing over the summer. It had turned Severus off his food when he sat next to him during the Welcoming Feast. Ever since, Severus had opted to sit as far away from the pungent professor as he could possibly get.

But it was not only Quirrell's odd turban and aroma that had troubled Severus. Dumbledore was becoming more suspicious of the man after hearing Severus' reports of his odd behaviour since term began. As such, Quirrell has been kept as far away from certain important matters as humanly possible—especially concerning a particular stone.

The Headmaster tapped the thimble with his wand and the small, innocuous item began to glow blue as both men touched it. Severus felt the familiar tug of the Portkey's magic in his navel, yanking him through space and time to Privet drive. When the pulling sensation ceased, Severus quickly surveyed the surrounding area with practiced ease. There were a few habits he had learned from his days as a spy that he preferred to keep, vigilance was one of them.

A dense ground fog caused the chilly night air to feel thick and oppressive and Severus instinctively pulled the hood of his cloak up, obscuring his face. Through the mist, he could see rows of nearly identical houses on either side of the newly paved street. Severus took an instant dislike to the air of conformity, but he would expect nothing less from Petunia. She was as envious of magic as much as she feared it. It was a fear that turned to hatred of anything that she considered 'abnormal.'

Dumbledore turned to Severus. With scarcely a noticeable flick of his wand he cast a Notice-Me-Not charm over the pair of them and together they strolled down the street in their wizarding robes without concern of drawing unwanted attention from nosey neighbours.

Severus wasn't precisely sure what to expect as they strode up the walkway to the front door of Number Four. He glanced down at the flowers planted at the edge of the walk and instinctively stopped to examine the blooms.

" _Lilium candidum_ " Severus muttered as he leaned over and plucked one of the small, white flowers and examined it closely. "The Madonna Lily."

Severus stood confused, trying to understand why Petunia would plant such a flower. The flower was a sign of purity and Severus wondered if Petunia understood its sacred meaning.

Dumbledore contemplated the flower in Severus' hand, "They certainly are flourishing. Perhaps Petunia has not entirely forgotten the sister she once loved so dearly."

"Perhaps," Severus murmured, stowing the bloom in pocket of his cloak as they continued up the walk.

Dumbledore rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately. Severus and Albus both nearly jumped back from shock. It was as if someone had been waiting for them.

Severus suppressed his urge to laugh. It was nearly humorous, the way Petunia's long, horse-like face, melted from a simpering smile into a mask of horror and disgust when she realized who was standing on her front stoop.

She quickly moved to slam the door, but Severus had been prepared for this; after all how many times had she slammed the door in his face when they were children? Severus pushed the door open with brute strength, forcing Petunia to take a stumbling step backward across the floor of the foyer.

"It has been a long time, _Tuney_. I see the years have not been kind."

Petunia let out a soft squeak as she gaped at them, raising her hand and pointing her bony index finger at Severus. "You have no right to be here!"

"On the contrary," Dumbledore replied calmly. "As the Executor of Harry's trust, from which you receive a handsome sum every month for his upkeep, _I_ have every right to be here. And since I have recently determined that Severus has a vested interest in Harry's wellbeing, I thought it prudent that he should come along."

Petunia stared gormlessly at the two wizards as she unconsciously backed away from them. After a few awkward seconds, it was clear she wasn't about to practice simple etiquette and invite them into the house.

"Let's assume you have invited us into your sitting room," Dumbledore said almost cheerfully as they moved over the threshold and proceeded into the painfully neat house.

Petunia finally moved because she had no other option and led them into the sitting room. The over-decorated room was the most awful shade of salmon Severus had ever laid his eyes on. There were fussy, little pillows scattered everywhere and more tacky nick-knacks than he cared to count. What was most noticeable to Severus, however- in a room that screamed to be noticed, was the complete lack of evidence that Harry had ever existed inside this house.

There were countless photographs of a hulking mass of what vaguely resembled a blonde boy placed strategically over every flat surface in the room, yet not one of Harry. On a small table next to the entrance was an unopened post written in unmistakable child's handwriting from Smelting's Academy. Severus had heard of the boarding school. _Good_. They would only have to deal with adults this night.

Severus noticed an obese, walrus-looking man sunk into the couch. He assumed it was Petunia's husband, Vernon Dursley. Lily had described him to Severus once and once again, Lily had been unfailingly kind in her description.

Petunia spun about and faced them. Her pinched face was even paler with barely contained anger. She did not invite them to sit down, which Severus expected; she wouldn't want their 'freakishness' sullying her over-priced, fussy-looking furniture.

"Pet, who was at the door?" Dursley asked, not bothering to he look up from his evening paper as they entered the room. Only when Petunia failed to answer, he finally removed his bulbous nose from the paper. Dursley's face immediately turned a mottled puce as he saw the two wizards standing before him. He threw his paper to the floor and struggled to heft his considerable weight to his feet.

Spittle flew from Dursley's moustache as he bellowed, "I meant to be shed of freaks and degenerates when we sent the boy to that school! Now get out my house now!"

"Petunia, I think it would be wise if we were to all sit down. We have a few matters we need to discuss with you regarding young Harry Potter," Dumbledore said pleasantly, completely ignoring the Dursley patriarch's vitriol.

Dumbledore conjured two brightly coloured, comfortable-looking armchairs for himself and Severus. He then flicked a wand in Dursley's direction, and the man was shoved back down onto sofa as though by an invisible hand.

The disgustingly obese Muggle appeared overtly enraged and frightened simultaneously. He amazingly made no sound or movement, but simply stared at the two wizards until Severus thought his eyes would surely pop out of their sockets.

Dumbledore serenely rested his elbows on the arms of the conjured, overstuffed chair and steepled his fingers together, his wand at the ready in his lap.

"Petunia, we have corresponded and you already know Severus," Dumbledore said pleasantly, gesturing to the sofa. "Please sit."

Petunia obliged, and quietly slid onto the sofa beside her stunned husband, neither daring to utter a word. Vernon Dursley's mottled, red face had drained of colour so rapidly, Severus thought he might faint dead away at any moment. Severus noticed Dumbledore, meanwhile, was eyeing both of the Muggles quite keenly.

Dursley's face, which had gone frighteningly pale, now began to colour again so rapidly Severus wondered if he could possibly burst an important blood vessel. Severus sorely hoped that was not the case, for if this shapeless mass posing as a Muggle had hurt Harry, a stroke would be too merciful an end when Severus could think of one or two old Death Eater party tricks that would more than fit the bill.

Dursley leaned forward menacingly, his fat jowls quivering with barely contained anger. "Now see here," he spat, as he lumbered to his feet, clearly taking the offensive. "We didn't ask to be saddled with that boy! You abandoned the little brat on our doorstep in the middle of the night, with just a blasted note. Now ten years later you appear at my house, at ungodly hours and attack me. You have some nerve to ask about him now!"

Dumbledore reclined serenely in his chair as he listened Dursley's rant. When the fat lump was finished, Dumbledore leaned forward and said diplomatically, "It seems that I was sorely mistaken in placing Harry in the home of his mother's only sister. If you were not agreeable to the arrangement, I left a means for Petunia to contact me. Other arrangements could have been made."

"Although I believe I am safe in assuming," he continued, levelling an icy glare at the Muggles. "That the afore mentioned money allotted to you each month for his upkeep was a large factor in you deciding to keep him."

Severus glanced over and saw Petunia blanch and clutch a shaky hand to her bony chest. What little colour that remained in her face faded until the skin that was stretched over her cheek bones seemed completely bloodless and waxy.

"I see," Dumbledore acknowledged calmly, inclining his head. It took every bit of Severus' Occulmency skills to compartmentalize his emotions, which was the only thing preventing him from leaping to his feet and playing some of the Dark Lord's favourite games. As it was, his fists were clenched so tight, they were aching.

It was then, that Petunia seemed to have gathered some of her sanctimonious defiance that Severus remembered so well. "If you were so interested in the boy, why did you wait until now to show up on my doorstep," she said heatedly.

Petunia quickly jutted her chin in Severus' direction. "And what of him? _'Vested interest,'_ indeed," she said as she looked down her nose at Severus contemptuously. "It's been obvious whose sprog the boy was since he was two! Where have you been all of this time while I've been feeding your bastard and putting a roof over his head… _Sevie?"_

" _How dare…!"_

"Sit down, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted with deceptive calmness. Severus slowly lowered himself back into his chair, never taking his hateful glare off Petunia, and never taking his grip off the wand concealed in his left cloak pocket.

"In all these years, Petunia, never once did you voice your complaints to me over the situation," Dumbledore said. "And I blame myself for trusting that your better nature would welcome Harry as part of your family."

Severus thought that at least Petunia had the grace to look embarrassed whilst her husband looked as though he were about to blow a major artery again.

Dumbledore continued, "As for Severus, however, he has only become recently aware that it is _possible_ that he may be Harry's father. That is why we are here. We don't wish to say anything to Harry unless we are absolutely certain. We can perform an easy…test, to determine paternity, but we need something of Harry's—a hair from a brush or pillow, perhaps."

"Just one moment," Petunia said in a clipped tone.

Both Severus and Dumbledore followed Petunia with their eyes as she bounded up the stairs in a very unladylike manner which was completely out of her character. Frankly, Severus had no idea the woman could move so quickly.

"Wait!" Dursley said, becoming suddenly more animated. "You mean that you _want_ to take the boy?" He asked, looking directly to Severus. "Where do we sign?"

Severus could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck. " _You_ mean to tell me, that after ten years of…caring for the boy, you are so eager to foist him off on a complete stranger?"

"If you're his father, then the boy ought to be with you." If it weren't for Dursley's contemptuous delivery, Severus would contend it was the only reasonable thing the lump had said during their entire visit.

"And if I'm not?"

Before Dursley's bloated face could answer, Petunia scurried back down the stairs.

Petunia practically shoved a small, bristled brush under Severus' nose.

"Will this work?" she sneered.

The brush was obviously old and so battered, the bristles practically laid flat. There was black hair matted inside that was too short and fine to belong to the lummox sitting before him. As Petunia and their spawn were blonde, the hair most likely belonged to Harry.

To the shock of their hosts, without a word, Severus pulled his wand from his pocket, and produced a white kerchief from thin air. He wrapped the brush in the cloth then tucked it in his robe pocket.

"Yes, Petunia, that should do quite nicely," Dumbledore said amicably enough, though not bothering to supress his grin as Petunia and her whale blustered over such offensive magic being used in their house.

While Dursley turned red trying to voice his outrage, Petunia shrieked, "How dare you use such unnaturalness in my house! Get out!"

Severus and Dumbledore were already rising from the couch as Petunia begun her tirade. Obviously Petunia was not as intimidated by Severus' magic as she was the headmaster's.

"It just so happens, we were just leaving," Severus said coolly.

Petunia was practically on Severus' heals with her 'brave' husband right behind her as Severus and the headmaster made for the front door. As they left the sitting room and entered the hall, something unseen struck Severus as they passed the door of the small broom cupboard under the stairs.

It obviously wasn't Severus' imagination. Albus had stopped to stare at the little cupboard as well. There was the unmistakable vibe of magic practically pounding on the door.

"What is in there?" Severus asked darkly as he pointed at the little door. Something about it made Severus' insides turn. Perhaps it had something to do with the padlock.

"Nothing!" Petunia said too quickly. "It's a broom cupboard. That's where I keep my cleaning supplies," she added nervously.

"Under lock and key?" Severus queried again as he took a step towards the cupboard. He was going to see what these two Muggles had to hide.

Before he could take a second step, Dursley shoved his wife out of his way and used his bulk to usher Severus and Albus towards the door. "Get out!" he thundered. "There is nothing in there of your concern!"

It happened all too quickly, and both wizards were out the threshold before they knew it. "Don't come back without those custody papers!" Dursley bellowed once more before slamming the door in their faces.

For a moment, Severus and Albus looked at each other with a mix of shock and concern. Neither of them seemed to care that a light popped on at the Muggle's house across the street. Let the Dursley's explain their strange visitors to the neighbours.

"You felt it too, didn't you, Albus?"

"Yes," Albus replied gravely. "That cupboard has been exposed to Magic—often and for quite some time."

 _Damn the Muggles_. Severus wanted some explanations and he would get them even if he had to force his way back into the blasted house. Severus reached for his wand, but his hand was stayed by the headmaster's.

"Come with me," Albus said as he grabbed Severus by the crook of the arm and led him away from the house. They walked a couple of blocks in the dark, until they came to an empty playground away from prying eyes.

Severus didn't want to Portkey back to Hogwarts. He wanted to have a go at Dursley's now.

"We're not leaving! Damn it, Albus," Severus said as he shook off Dumbledore's hand. "You know as well as I that the only way that cupboard could have absorbed so much magic…."Severus was so exasperated he almost couldn't finish his sentence. He finally just shouted what he and the headmaster already knew. "They obviously locked the boy in there as punishment. Just because Harry couldn't help being a Wizard!"

"I know," the headmaster replied calmly, though it was obvious he was as angry as Severus. "But we cannot lose our advantage now. Harry is no ordinary boy and biological father or not, if wind of this gets out to the Ministry before you have legal custody, it could go very bad for Harry. This must be done delicately."

"But, Albus, are they to just get away with this? They obviously abused the boy! This could just be the beginning!"

"Believe me, Severus, if our suspicions are true, there will be justice for Harry," Dumbledore said as he reached in his pocket for the Portkey again. "I just pray that paternity test comes out positive, or else things are going to get sticky rather quick."

Severus didn't bother to answer, because he knew there was no way he was going to win this argument tonight. But still, as he placed his finger on the glowing, blue thimble, the pull of magical transport was not the only thing that tugged on his gut and made him feel like he swallowed a ton of lead.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry was very nervous about the flying lesson. He had seen images of witches flying on broomsticks at his old primary around Halloween. Sometimes he would dream he could fly too, but he never believed that flying on broomsticks was real. But now that he saw with his own eyes that it was real, flying around on broomsticks didn't seem either safe or comfortable.

The fact that the lesson was with the Slytherins certainly didn't help calm Harry's nerves. The last thing he needed was for Draco Malfoy to see him make a complete wally of himself trying to fly on a broomstick.

Then there was this game played on broomsticks called "Quidditch"—everyone who came from a wizard family seemed to talk about it. Malfoy talked constantly about flying, crowing about how he narrowly escaped Muggles in helicopters and small planes. Harry was pretty sure he was lying…but what if he wasn't? Even Ron boasted to anyone who would listen that he nearly hit a Muggle hang glider with his brother Charlie's old broom.

And _then_ there was Neville. He came from a wizard family too but had never been on a broomstick in his life. His grandmother never allowed him to fly. Harry thought that was probably a good idea because Neville seemed too clumsy just walking from one room to the next.

Surprisingly Hermione, who never seemed to fail at anything, was just as nervous as Neville and Harry. She had spent nearly all morning reciting flying tips from a book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Watching Neville hanging on her every word only made Harry's collywobbles even worse.

Too soon after lunch, all the first year Gryffindors made their way outside to the area where the lessons were going to be. Harry fervently wished they had their lesson before lunch. If he sicked-up on his broom he'd never be able to show his face at Hogwarts again. Malfoy would certainly never let him live it down.

Harry and Ron marched down a long slopping hill, along with his fellow first-year Gryffindors, until they reached a flat, grassy lawn. The Forbidden Forest was just beyond. The Slytherins were already on the lawn, along with a long line of manky school broomsticks positioned neatly on the grass. Harry had heard the school brooms were shoddy at the best of times and they certainly looked it.

Malfoy was still boasting about how he had been flying since the age of six. The way he was talking of his flying prowess, one would think he was already on his house Quidditch team.

Harry, or any of the other Gryffindors for that matter, didn't have to tell Malfoy to shut it, because everyone became suddenly quiet as a stern-looking, grey-haired witch approached.

She abruptly blew a whistle and everyone instinctively clamoured next to a broom, Gryffindors in one line and Slytherins in another.

Harry thought she imitated a drill instructor in some of the old war movies Uncle Vernon used to watch "I'm Madam Hooch, and today is your first flying lesson. Everyone step to the left of your broom."

After everyone had maneuvered to the proper sides of their brooms, she continued, "Now, place your right hand over your broom and with a firm and determined voice, say 'up'!"

Harry looked about as he heard over a dozen voices, some more piercing than others, bark "up". A few brooms seemed to vibrate. Harry smirked inwardly when he noticed that Malfoy's broom hadn't jumped into his hand yet and Madam Hooch told him his technique was all wrong. Neville and Hermione seemed to have the most difficulty controlling their brooms. Harry wondered if Hermione's face was red because she was over concentrating or overly embarrassed that she was failing at magic for the first time.

Harry felt a little more confident when he noticed that the rest of the class continued to struggle and he wouldn't make a fool of himself. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to steel his nerves. He breathed deeply again put his right hand over his broom, and with determination said, "Up!"

His broom flew into his hand so quickly and with such force, that it nearly knocked him backwards. Harry grinned widely, but not because he was being gapped at with amazement and envy by his classmates. Harry had just discovered another link to his parents. He was going to be a great flyer, just like his dad.

After another eternally long five minutes of voices shrilly calling, "up", everyone, including Neville finally had their brooms in hand.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle again. "Good! Now, swing your right leg over the broomstick and straddle your broom."

Everyone complied. But before Madam Hooch could bark out her next instruction, Neville began to shakily take off for the sky. Harry figured that in his nervousness, Neville must have pushed off before Madam Hooch gave the order.

The teacher shouted for Neville to come back, but he had already shot up at least twenty feet in the air. Then Neville made the mistake of looking down. Neville's face paled and he slipped sideways off the broom and landed with a nasty _crack_ face down in the grass.

Madam Hooch raced over to help him, with both Gryffindors and Slytherins hot on her heals. Poor Neville was conscious, but his face was ashen and his wrist was bent at an unnatural angle.

"Tut, tut," she said softly as she gingerly looked over Neville's wrist. "You have a nasty break, dear. We'll get Madam Pomfrey to take care of it straight away."

Neville just wined softly, but Harry wouldn't have blamed his classmate if he cried like a baby. Harry noticed a bone protruding through Neville's still intact skin. It was enough to make Harry's skin crawl and he was sure some of his classmates were ready to sick-up.

Madam Hooch carefully helped Neville from the ground. Before she led him from the lawn, she sharply turned to the rest of the class. "Not one of you had better set a single toe off the ground while I'm gone. Leave your brooms on the ground or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.'" She turned to Neville and said kindly, "Come along, dear." Neville, his face tear-streaked and pale, hobbled back to the castle with her.

Malfoy scarcely waited until they were out of earshot before he burst into laughter and the other Slytherins quickly joined in like the little sycophants Harry suspected they were. Suddenly Malfoy darted forward and snatched something off the ground, "Look! It's Longbottom's stupid Rememberall. He should have used it to remember to fall on his fat arse."

Harry recalled Neville showing it to him that morning at breakfast. His grandmother had sent him the gift just that morning in the owl post. Something twisted in Harry's gut at seeing Malfoy being a hateful bully. Harry, who had been bullied his entire life, wouldn't stand for it.

"Give that to me, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, his low, smooth tone belying his righteous anger.

Malfoy snatched up his broom and smiled nastily.

"Give it here!" Harry repeated as Malfoy leapt onto his broom and took off.

It was true; Malfoy could fly well. "Why don't you come and get it, Potter?" Malfoy mocked from ten feet in the air.

Harry bent over and grabbed his broom. As he threw one leg over it, Hermione grabbed him by the robe and yelped, "No! You'll get into trouble. You don't even know how to fly yet!"

Harry shrugged her away and kicked off the ground as hard as he could. Even at his fast speed, he soared up into the air with amazing ease. There was a sudden burst of happiness inside him when he had discovered that, for once, he was naturally good at something. Flying was easy and more wonderful than he could have imagined.

Harry grinned as he heard an admiring whoop from Ron and his fellow Gryffindors.

Although Malfoy sneered, there was an unmistakable look of worry on his face. Just as Harry levelled his broom even with Malfoy's, the Slytherin jeered, "If you want it so badly, you can go find it—on the roof!" Malfoy threw the tiny ball as hard as he could towards the castle, and then streaked back to the ground.

Instinctively, Harry knew what to do, and before his mind could form a coherent thought, he leaned forward and shot off after the Rememberall like a rocket. He quickly veered into a steep dive as gravity caught his target and the ball began to arc back towards the ground. Harry hadn't noticed how close to the castle he was, but he caught the Rememberall in mid-air just before it smashed against the stone wall. Harry swung around faster than he could blink and with Neville's Rememberall clutched firmly in his fist, he steered his broom back towards the ground.

Harry approached to the cheers of the Gryffindor's and the jeers of the Slytherin's. As he jumped off his broom and into the soft grass, his classmates came running towards him to give him a hero's welcome, Harry had never felt so triumphant in his life.

However, his triumph was short lived.

"Harry James Potter!"

Harry's elated moment took a sudden nose-dive as he turned and saw Professor McGonagall running across the grounds toward him. Suddenly, Harry found himself trembling. This did not look good— _at all!_

"Never- in all these years…," his head of house sputtered in shock. "You could very well've broken your fool neck! Why in Merlin's name would you do something so…so reckless?"

His housemates quickly came to his defence, speaking all at once as they tried to explain about Malfoy and the Rememberall.

"Enough!" Professor McGonagall silenced them all with a wave of her hand. "Mr Potter, come with me. _Now!"_

McGonagall's tone allowed for no protest as Harry numbly followed along behind her, trying and failing, to keep up with her long strides. He wanted to defend himself, but he couldn't form a single word, much less a coherent sentence. He tried to ignore the sting forming behind his eyes as he realized the enormity of the situation. He was about to be expelled from Hogwarts. He could only imagine what the Dursleys would say when he appeared back on their doorstep.

Professor McGonagall led him into the castle, through hallways and corridors that Harry only vaguely registered due to the fact he was fighting to hold back the threatening tears that burned in the corners of his eyes. They stopped suddenly in front of a huge statue of a griffin.

" _Sherbert Lemon_ ," Professor McGonagall said nonsensically, seemingly to the statue. To Harry's astonishment, the Griffin moved.

With a nudge of her head, McGonagall silently indicated to Harry to go up the spiral staircase hidden behind the statue. Harry stepped on the first stair and reached to the wall for support as the stone staircase suddenly began to spiral upwards like a Muggle escalator. Professor McGonagall took the step two levels below his and followed him up in grim silence.

When the staircase finally reached its destination, Harry noticed a wooden knocker in the shape of a griffin on a large oaken door. His stomach lurched unpleasantly. Harry realized where he was being taken; this was Headmaster Dumbledore's office.

From over his shoulder, Professor McGonagall smartly rapped on the door twice. The door slowly opened, seemingly of its own will, and they stepped in the room. Harry had never felt so small and petulant.

Once he mustered up the courage to lift his head up high enough to look beyond his fringe, he noticed a large, beautifully decorated, circular room. A number of odd and wonderful silver instruments whirred and emitted little puffs of smoke as they stood on small spindly-legged tables. The walls were covered with old portraits of men and women that Harry assumed were previous headmasters and headmistresses. Some looked upon him with interest. Some were distractingly scratching their noses or heads, but most were snoozing in their frames. Harry guessed there must have been at least a hundred of them.

Sitting on a tall perch was the most exotic and beautiful bird had ever seen looking curiously down at him. It was as large as a turkey and had long feathers as red as flame. Harry felt an overwhelming urge to touch it, but his trance was broken by McGonagall's excited voice.

"Albus, I have found a new Seeker for Gryffindor."

Harry had been too preoccupied notice Dumbledore sitting behind his ornate claw-footed desk, gazing down at him over his half-moon glasses.

"Is that right?" Dumbledore asked neutrally as he leaned back in his chair.

"He is a natural," Professor McGonagall said crisply, "I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broom, Potter?"

Harry looked back and forth between his headmaster and head of house in confusion. Certainly he was here in the headmaster's office to be expelled. But by the sound of the excitement in Professor McGonagall's voice, Harry wasn't in trouble at all.

Not sure what to think or do, Harry simply nodded silently.

"Albus, I'm sure you can manage to bend the rule about first years being on the team," Professor McGonagall nearly pleaded. "Heaven knows we could use a good Seeker this year. Slytherin flattened us last term. For weeks, I couldn't look at Severus Snape without him smirking at me. It was practically indecent!"

Harry wondered if he heard the headmaster snort with amusement, but then decided it must have been his imagination. Dumbledore merely smiled amiably as he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the top of his desk and steepling his fingers together. "I'm certain that can be arranged. However, young Harry here will need permission of a parent or guardian to play on the team. I will leave obtaining permission to you, Minerva."

For moment, Professor McGonagall looked perplexed then her lips thinned seemed to all but disappear. "Very well, Albus."

Harry wanted to tell her not to bother. The Dursleys wouldn't care either way if he were to be able to fly on broom, but would probably deny him permission simply because it was something Harry wanted so desperately to do. Harry decided to keep his mouth shut. He didn't want to take a chance that they might expel him after all if he couldn't play.

Professor McGonagall peered over her glasses at Harry. "I want to hear that you are training hard, Mr Potter, or I may change my mind about allowing you on the team."

Then she smiled at Harry for the first time. "Your father was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

She waved him out of the office, but before Harry shut the door all the way, he heard Professor McGonagall speak to the Headmaster again. "I'll send an owl to Harry's aunt straight away."

"There's no need," Dumbledore replied. "Harry has a blood relative that can give him permission here at the school."

Before he could hear the rest of the conversation, the door clicked and closed softly in his face. Harry was left alone to stand in silent wonder at who his mysterious relative might be. Maybe Jordan was right. Was he related to Professor Snape after all?

* * *

Severus strode purposefully through the stone hallway toward the hospital wing practically dragging along one of his second-year Slytherin girls in his wake as she hacked and coughed whilst trying to keep up with his pace. The idiot girl had been foolish enough to not pay proper attention to what she was doing and substituted castor beans for puffer fish eyes. Mercifully, she had only dropped one into her cauldron before Severus had caught what could have been a fatal mistake. Severus managed to evacuate his classroom, but not before Ms Selwyn received the brunt of the fumes. Had she added more beans or the formulation had been off, Ms Selwyn would have had more worries than a nagging cough.

Severus had already sent word to Poppy that he was en route through one of the school portraits and the matron was waiting for their arrival.

"Put her here, Severus," Poppy said as she, emerged from behind one privacy screen and indicated to another. "I have students falling from the sky today."

Apparently, Poppy meant that literally for Severus could just make out the sandy-blond hair of the Longbottom boy behind the screen with Rolanda Hooch by his side.

Severus deposited the girl. "For once, listen to an adult's instruction, Ms Selwyn, and do what Madam Pomfrey tells you to do."

"Sorry—*cough* Professor. I don't know how—*cough* I made that mistake."

"Next time, keep your attention focused on your assignment rather than Mr Burke."

Madam Pomfrey shooed Severus away and closed the privacy curtain behind her. He knew Ms Selwyn's recovery would not take long, so he idled his time looking out the window. Once Poppy was through, there were punishments to discuss.

Off in the distance, Severus noticed Rolanda's first-years gathered and waiting for their flying lesson to commence. Today it was Slytherins and Gryffindors. Severus tried to discern Harry's black mane from the other students, knowing the boy was somewhere amongst them.

Severus finally spotted him. It was hard to know for certain from such a distance, but if Severus were a betting man, he would say Harry and Mr Malfoy were having words.

"Rolanda-you need to see to your class," Severus advised. Hooch gave no indication of hearing him.

"Severus," Madam Pomfrey called as she bustled across the floor. "Ms Selwyn will be ready to go in…"

Severus held up his hand, too distracted by the tableau outside the large window.

Poppy looked out the window to see what had caught Severus' attention. "Don't worry, Severus. Boys will be boys. I'm certain they can work things out amongst themselves if you just—Oh dear!"

Severus never heard what he should let the boys do, because Poppy had been taken off guard as much as Severus. Madam Hooch must have been looking out the window at the same time as she cried, "Oh, bugger!" and ran out of the room in a shot.

Malfoy had taken off the ground with Harry hot behind him. Severus tried to stalk out of the room behind Hooch when Poppy grabbed him by the arm. "Rolanda will see to them. It's just a bit of flying, Severus."

Severus never saw how it happened, but at that very moment Harry was flying kamikaze-style straight toward the castle.

Before he could take another breath, Severus' wand was out of his cloak and into his hand ready to take action to keep the boy from killing himself. But before he could do anything, he witnessed Harry expertly execute a sharp turn on his broom, pull out of the dive, and somehow manage to grab a small object out of the air. Severus let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

Severus dashed out of the hospital, ignoring Poppy's pleas to come back. He ran down to the training grounds and arrived at nearly the same time as Hooch, only to find that Harry had already been taken to see the headmaster. After giving Malfoy a week of detention with Filch, Severus headed straight for the headmaster's office as Madam Hooch wrestled her class back to order.

Severus couldn't figure out Minerva's game. Why punish Harry and not Draco?

As he approached the corridor leading to Dumbledore's office, Severus thought he caught site of a small figure with raven hair running down the hall. He stopped at the stone griffin, resisting the urge to follow after the boy. He watched the figure until it turned the corner and out of sight.

Severus addressed the griffin with Albus' ridiculous password and ran up the stairs rather than wait for the staircase to carry him. He reached to open the door without announcing himself, but the door opened and he stood face to face with Minerva.

"Ah, Severus, just the wizard I wanted to see."

Severus blinked. "If you were going to inquire about Mr Malfoy's actions out on the training grounds, I have already given him detention with Mr Filch," he said coolly.

"Mr Malfoy?" Minerva parroted. "What does this have to do with Mr Malfoy? I wanted to speak with you about Harry."

"Har…Mr Potter?"

Severus didn't understand as he looked from Minerva to Albus.

"Severus," Albus said. "Minerva wishes for Harry to try out for Quidditch but I informed her that she would need the permission of Harry's guardian. As the Dursley's have no interest in dealing with the magical world, and you are the boy's closest magical relative, the responsibility rests upon you."

"Wh…what did you say?" Good thing there was a chair behind Severus, or else he would have ended up in a heap upon the floor.

"Minerva, would you be so kind as to leave us?" Although Albus asked, it was obvious that it wasn't a request.

"But Albus—Severus hasn't even…"

"I promise to inform you of his decision. Now if you please…"

Minerva threw her hands up in defeat, accepting her dismissal. She turned to Severus and said, "Please, consider it, Severus. It's a great opportunity for the boy."

Severus didn't watch her leave. He didn't even realize that Albus was standing right before him until he felt a hand place a cup of tea in his.

"Drink this, Severus. You'll need it."

Severus numbly put the cup to his lips. As he sipped, he felt a gentle wave of warm relaxation move through his muscles and his heart rate began slow.

"Calming Draught?"

"I thought it prudent under the circumstances," Dumbledore confessed as he returned to his desk.

Severus nodded and put down his teacup. "I'm correct to assume that you brewed the potion."

Albus nodded as he took his seat, "Just this morning. I was going to call you into my office after super."

"And you felt compelled to tell Minerva before you told me?"

"I apologise for that. I should have waited. She only knows you're related, not how closely."

Severus got up from his chair and walked over to the window. "She suspects! Everyone suspects!" Severus exclaimed. Wishing he had held on to his tea, Severus sighed deeply in an effort to calm himself. "How close?"

" _Close—_ Of course, normally I would tell you to use the potion to perform a final charm so to discern your exact relationship. But there is no need." Severus heard the sliding of a wooden drawer. He turned to see Dumbledore put a small phial on his desk. "As you can see, there cannot be another explanation."

Severus swallowed hard, unsure if he were awake and if his eyes were telling him the truth. But the final charm would reveal where on the family tree they were connected.

"As you cannot be so closely related through James, one can only assume…"

"There is still a possibility of a Muggle connection," Severus said, desperately looking for an out. "The Snapes and Evans'…they lived in the same community for at least two generations."

"You're in denial. Look at the phial and be honest to yourself, Severus," Albus said. "Do you believe that?"

Severus shook his head, "No…I would have been told of such a relationship by my father or Mr and Mrs Evans."

"Severus— _Look_ at the phial."

Severus approached the headmaster's desk and took the phial in hand. He gazed at the midnight blue potion. Suddenly, he felt his gut turn as cold as ice as he realized for the first time what Albus was trying to say. Albus only wanted Severus to say it. Severus knew exactly what such a colour meant.

"Your relationship is too close for even that of an uncle or first cousin."

Severus sighed. Albus was right. Unless he and Harry were brothers, there was only one explanation for such a dark hue. He did not need the charm to tell him what he already knew.

Severus did not bother to wipe away the single traitorous tear that ran down his cheek.

"He's _mine_ , Albus. Harry Potter is my son."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little canon note-We know that in canon, Neville tagged along with Harry and Ron, but this was a case where JK did not make much sense. If Madam Pomfrey could quickly heal broken bones, like she stated in PS, then poor Neville shouldn't have had to stay in the hospital wing until after curfew-Just sayin'. ~M

 

* * *

Harry told Ron all about becoming Gryffindor's new Seeker during supper in the Great Hall and Harry was happy to see that his new best friend was chuffed for him.

"But first-years never get to join the House teams," Ron said in awe.

"I know," Harry said as he jabbed his fork into a large banger. He took a too-big bite and nearly choked it down so he could finish what he had to say. "Oliver Wood told me this afternoon. We've already sorta had our first Quidditch lesson." Harry took a large swallow of pumpkin juice. "But don't tell anyone yet. Wood wants to keep it secret until my first official practice next week."

Ron couldn't answer because he was too busy trying to swallow a piece of chicken, so he just nodded his head vigorously in agreement. When Ron did finally manage to swallow his food, he turned to Harry and said "I wonder how Professor McGonagall got permission from your relatives so quickly. Didn't you say they were Muggles?"

Harry's fork stopped in mid-air. Ron was right. Even in primary, no one was ever allowed to try out for a team or go on a school outing without the express permission of a parent or guardian. Harry's relatives hated magic. They hated him. The Dursley's had never given permission for Harry to do anything fun at school. He was always left behind during school outings and he was never allowed to try out for a team. Who could have given him permission to play Quidditch?

"Hey!" Harry said, turning excitedly towards Ron.

Ron swallowed a mouthful of food hard and looked at Harry with expectation. "What?" he asked.

Harry said, "I just remembered. The Headmaster told Professor McGonagall there was someone at the school they could ask." Harry looked up at the teacher's tables and thought about Professor Snape. The dark professor was eating and seemed to take no notice of Harry. Harry leaned over to his best mate and whispered. "You don't suppose it was Professor Snape, do you?"

Ron looked up at the teacher's table as well and seemed to consider the austere Potion's Master. "I don't know, Harry," he said sceptically. "I know he's not as bad as everyone says, but do you really think he'd give you permission to play against his own House?"

Harry's heart sank a little. Ron was right. There was no way Snape would give Harry permission to play against his House. But if it wasn't Snape, who was it?

Harry wondered which teacher could possibly be his mysterious relative, but nobody else seemed any more likely than Snape.

* * *

Harry could barely pay attention in his classes the next day as he contemplated who his anonymous benefactor might be. Even Professor Sprout threatened to dock Harry a point if he didn't get his head out of the clouds and back into the greenhouse.

His secret was almost let out of the bag when on their way back up to the Great Hall for supper, Ron's twin brothers, Fred and George came up to congratulate Harry on making the team.

"If you're as good as Wood says you are…," said Fred or George. "We have a real chance winning the Cup this year," his double finished.

Apparently, Wood couldn't keep his own secret. If the twins knew he was Gryffindor's new Seeker, surely it wouldn't be long before the rest of the school knew.

"Not so loud," Harry said with a panicked whisper as he looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was in listening distance. Luckily everyone was more interested in getting to where they had to go than to pay attention to Harry. "Wood doesn't want anyone to know yet."

"Don't worry, Harry—your secret is as safe as Gringott's," the twins assured him as they raced off to wherever they had to go. Harry thought he heard one of them say something about a secret passage.

As Harry watched the twins leave, Ron turned to him and said, "At least they didn't tell you horror stories like people vanishing for months on end or how it's been years since someone d…"

Harry never did hear how long it's been since someone did what, because just at that point Ron was interrupted.

"There you are, Potter!"

Harry and Ron turned. They both knew that contemptuous voice. Sure enough, there was Draco Malfoy flanked by his two sycophants, Crabb and Goyle. Harry wondered if Hogwarts had any educational standards at all when it came to picking its students. Crabb and Goyle just stood there looking gormless next to Malfoy. Harry doubted the two could read. Neither of them spoke much.

Goyle was the largest of the three. At the age of eleven he looked as though he could squash any third-year and would be more than happy to do it if Malfoy told him to. Crabb reminded Harry of a fatter, meaner Dudley which he hadn't thought possible until he first laid eyes on Crabb during the train ride from London.

Malfoy wasted no time in having a go at Harry about getting in trouble during the flying lesson. "I thought that old cat, McGonagall, would have had you on the train back to London by now. Guess you got off easy. What's she got you doing instead, Potter? Scrubbing the boy's toilet with your own toothbrush?"

Harry shrugged indifferently. It was none of Malfoy's business if McGonagall punished Harry or not, and he certainly didn't want the smarmy Slytherin to know about his appointment to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Not yet, anyway.

Harry's nonchalant reaction seemed to take some of Malfoy's fight away until Ron's ginger temper reared its head. "You shouldn't try to think so much, Malfoy. You might end up hurting yourself," Ron said derisively.

Draco's eyes narrowed with unfettered contempt. "That's it, Potter. I challenge you to a Wizard's duel. Crabb here will be my second. Weaselby, the blood-traitor, can be yours."

Normally, Harry would have backed away from Malfoy's challenge. He couldn't understand how Ron's insult equated to a duel with him. Malfoy must have been looking for any reason to challenge Harry. Under ordinary circumstances, Harry would have considered whatever animosity there was between Ron and Malfoy to be their business. But Harry didn't like the way Malfoy glared at Ron and called his new best friend a blood-traitor. Ron's face had turned as red as his hair with anger. Harry wasn't even sure what a blood-traitor was, but from Ron's reaction it obviously wasn't nice. Plus, he didn't want to look like a coward in front of the school bullies. He might as well put a target on his back. Before he knew what he was saying he heard his own voice say, "You're on!"

A sly grin came across Malfoy's face as he looked up to his two goons. "Fine! Tonight at midnight in the trophy room. That room is always unlocked."

Before Harry could protest the time, or even had a chance to ask the Slytherin how he knew the room would be unlocked, Malfoy and his entourage stalked away. Harry sighed. He was committed now. He looked to Ron and regretted his own thoughtlessness. "I'm sorry I got you involved, Ron. I don't even know what a Wizard's duel is."

"That's okay," Ron said as he glared down the direction Malfoy and his gang had left. "I wouldn't let you go by yourself. I would have offered to be your second, anyway."

"What's a second?" Harry asked as they began to continue their way to the Great Hall.

"Well...er...a second is there to take your place if you get killed in the duel."

Harry stopped and looked at his friend with disbelief. "If I get killed?!"

"No, no," Ron assured Harry. "Only grown up wizards or witches get seriously hurt in a duel. Kids can't do the  _really_  dangerous spells. The worst Malfoy can do is give you zits. And the school matron can cure those quick with a potion."

"Whew," Harry sighed in relief. "What happens if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Chuck it on the ground and tackle him," Ron replied with a laugh.

During super, Harry and Ron delved excitingly through their spell books, trying to come up with a strategy for the upcoming duel.

They finished their super and got up from the table. They were in a hurry to get back to Gryffindor Tower so they could practice their spell casting. Harry heard quickening footsteps behind them. Someone had followed them out of the Great Hall. Harry knew it was a girl because he could hear the distinct sound of her Mary Janes clicking on the stone floor.

"You really shouldn't go mucking about in the castle at night. If you get caught, you will cost us house points. It's not a very smart thing to do," Hermione Granger hissed at them as she picked up her pace and walked past them. Harry figured she must have overheard him and Ron talking during super.

Harry watched her pass and for a fleeting moment thought she might have a point.

"Don't listen to her," Ron said as he took Harry by the arm and pulled him along. "She's a girl. What does she know about these things?"

* * *

Much later that night, Harry lay in bed thinking about the events of the previous days. It was as close to perfect that he had ever remembered having it. He had made friends, he had a very soft warm bed to sleep in, and he could have his fill of any food that struck his fancy at meal times. For as long as he could remember, Harry had been consigned to a lumpy mattress in a dank, dusty cupboard and threadbare blankets. The bed he had been given in Dudley's second bedroom recently wasn't much of a step up. And meals…well, he was lucky if he had three full meals a day. Harry's aunt and uncle always found some fabricated reason or another to deny him at least one meal a day. Snacks and sweets were practically unheard of for Harry.

As Harry laid there and thought of his good fortune, he smiled when he remembered the generic duelling advice that Ron had spent most of the evening lecturing him about. Truth be told, Harry did not want to break the rules or get himself and his new best friend in trouble. However, whenever he thought about facing Malfoy's smug face in the morning at breakfast, Harry could already hear the Slytherin boy crowing about how cowardly 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' turned out.

"It's almost time," Ron muttered from his bed. "We don't want to be late."

They pulled on their robes and trainers and grabbed their wands. Harry was glad the castle was made of stone. They didn't have to worry about creaking floors as they crept as stealthily as cat burglars across the crimson and gold carpet in the dorm room. Slowly, Ron opened the door. He and Harry both stopped in panic and held their breath as the old brass hinges squeaked. They looked back and only released their breath when it was obvious none of their dorm mates so much as stirred. Sean, Dean and Neville were still fast asleep. Neville had returned to the common room hours ago after Madam Pomfrey had fixed his broken arm in a thrice.

Silently, Harry led their way down the stairs. It wasn't easy navigating the stairs in the dead of night. None of the sconces were lit and the way was as dark as pitch. Harry wished they had already learned how to light their way with their wands, or that they at least had a small flashlight. When they finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry stopped to look around the common room. He let his eyes adjust to the scant moonlight shining through the tower window. No one was there.

"Oof… sorry," Ron said as quietly as he could. He had bumped into Harry at the bottom of the stairs, nearly knocking Harry off his feet in the process.

Harry regained his balance quickly. "It's okay," he whispered. He looked around once more and said, "The coast is clear. Let's go."

They were nearly to the rounded portrait hole, when a dark figure stepped from the shadows. At first, Harry thought it might have been one of the many school ghosts. But it wasn't a ghost. To his annoyance, it was Hermione Granger again. She was wearing a housecoat over her night clothes and her bushy hair was wilder than usual.

"Go back to bed. This doesn't concern you," Ron snapped crossing his arms.

The two boys moved past her, but she didn't give up.

"It concerns me when you get docked House points." Harry and Ron ignored her. She followed them outside the portrait hole despite her state of undress.

"I'll tell your brother," Hermione said in a hushed threat as the portrait door closed behind her. She turned to go back into the common room, but the Fat Lady was gone.

"Doesn't look like you're telling anyone," Harry said slyly, arching an eyebrow. "You'll be in trouble as well."

Harry and Ron began walking toward the trophy room. Hermione marched along behind them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ron asked incredulously. "You're not even dressed."

"I'm coming with you, of course," she said determinably. "Someone has to be the responsible party, and if you get caught— which you will,  _I_  can hopefully explain and try to keep us out of detention."

"Here. At least put this on!" Ron pulled off his robe and threw it over Hermione's shoulders, leaving him in his jeans and jumper. "You're going to embarrass us in front of the Slytherins dressed like that. It's indecent."

Harry noticed that Hermione blushed as she fastened the hooks and eyes of Ron's robe over her housecoat. The sleeves were long, and the robe fell over her bed slippers, dragging the floor by about an inch. But at least it was difficult to see she was in her bedclothes. She mumbled an embarrassed, "Thanks," and the trio continued on their way.

Harry and Ron, with Hermione tagging along after them, quietly made their way to the trophy room. Hermione would occasionally whisper directions through the corridors or argue with the Harry and Ron about proper duelling etiquette. She had read about it in a book.

As they rounded the corner that led to the Trophy Room, Harry thrust out his arm and stopped Ron and Hermione in their tracks.

"What is it?" Ron asked with a hushed voice.

Harry looked back at his companions. "It's Peeves. He's circling around in front of the door."

Ron and Hermione peeked around the corner with Harry. The apparition of a squat little man with a bell hat and orange bow tie seemed to be busying himself around the door. They couldn't tell what he was doing, but he seemed to be humming a rather satisfied tune.

"I don't like this," Hermione said in a shaky whisper.

"Me neither," Ron unexpectedly agreed.

"Malfoy and his friends must not be here yet," Harry said. "Wouldn't Peeves be pranking them if they were?"

"Unless the Slytherins encouraged him to prank us first," Ron suggested.

Hermione chimed in, "It must be a trap. I bet you're right, Harry. They aren't even here."

Harry closed his eyes in frustration. It seemed as if he had dragged Ron and Hermione out of bed and risked detention for nothing. But, what if Malfoy and his gang were just running late? Harry's better judgment told him that they should go back to bed, but he didn't want to be branded a coward if the Slytherins showed up and he wasn't there.

Harry sighed heavily. "What do we do now?"

"I would suggest that you go back to bed."

Harry turned with a start as Hermione squeaked and Ron yelped. Towering over them in robes as dark as the shadows, stood Professor Snape. His arms were crossed and he had a very annoyed look on his face. Then again, Snape always had an annoyed look on his face.

Harry was the first to try to speak, but he could only stutter, "I…I…I…."

Harry's heart sank. Professor Snape was the last teacher he wanted to get in trouble with, and it wasn't because he was afraid of him like the other students. Harry just didn't want to disappoint the man. From the stern glare coming from the professor, Harry knew he had done just that.

"Speak up, Mr Potter," Professor Snape said darkly. "Cat got your tongue? Now tell me—why would three young Gryffindors, such as yourselves, be strolling about the castle at midnight?"

Harry desperately searched his mind for a plausible answer. Ron seemed to be struggling just as much as he was. To Harry's astonishment, it was Hermione who spoke up with a halfway believable explanation.

"I was sleepwalking, sir" she spouted. "Ron and Harry were studying late when they saw me leave the tower and came out after me."

Harry gulped as Snape raised an eyebrow. He looked over them suspiciously, taking notice of Ron's overly-large robes on Hermione. They were slightly open were one could just see her bedclothes. For a fleeting moment, Harry thought Hermione's explanation might work. "I see," the professor said slowly. "Would anyone care to explain why you are heading in the  _opposite_  direction from Gryffindor Tower?"

"We were locked out," Ron said, quickly expanding on Hermione's lie. "The Fat Lady disappeared and we were just trying to find the Headmaster's office so he could let us back in." Ron tried to give Snape an innocent look, but to Harry it looked unconvincing.

For a second, Harry thought it had worked because Snape gave a slight nod, as if he believed Ron, but his hopes deflated quickly. "Bravo, Mr Weasley, Ms Granger. Your quick and plausible explanations are worthy of a Slytherin, but a lie is still a lie."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione dropped their mouths at once. Harry couldn't believe it. They were in big trouble. He just knew it. They had been caught lying to a teacher. True—Harry hadn't done the lying, but he had dragged his classmates out well after curfew, and he said nothing to contradict Ron and Hermione's quickly concocted story.

"You see, I had overheard Mr Malfoy and his friends fabricate their little plot, and just as expected from a Gryffindor, you fell for it." Professor Snape tutted, "Typical."

"Please, sir," Harry pleaded. "It's my fault. It's because of me Ron and Hermione are out here. Ron wasn't about to let me go alone and Hermione tried to stop us when she got locked out."

An odd look came over Professor Snape as he looked down at Harry with his fathomless, black eyes. Harry thought he might be debating something, but there was something else behind them that seemed sad.

"Be that as it may, Mr Potter, you are still out of bed after curfew," Snape said. "I'm afraid that it's fifteen points from Gryffindor and a week's detention for each of you is in order."

Harry and Ron groaned. Hermione looked as if she might faint. But Harry thought that in the long run, they might have got off easy considering who it was doling out the punishment.

Harry hung his head in shame. It was the first time he had been in trouble at Hogwarts and it was with Professor Snape. He would have rather endured Malfoy's taunting.

Harry felt a gentle hand push into his back. "Come along, you three. Your night time adventuring has come to an end."

Professor Snape frog-marched Harry, Ron, and Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower. The corridors were dark and empty, and their footfall echoed off the stone walls. It only added to Harry's sensation of impending doom.

When they reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, the fat lady in the pink dress had returned to her portrait. "Oh, my!" She exclaimed. "What are you three doing out here so long after curfew?"

Professor Snape looked down at Ron grimly and said, "It seems as though Mr Weasley told me at least one truth. My question is, where were you when they sneaked out?"

The Fat Lady looked abashed when she said to Snape, "Well…I…It's none of your business where I've been!"

Without hearing the password, the Fat Lady allowed the portrait to fly open. It opened with such force, it banged as it bounced off the stone wall.

Snape ushered Harry and his friend through the revealed passage while he remained outside. "Expect my owl tomorrow morning detailing your punishments. If I catch you out of bed again, you'll end up spending your evenings with Mr Filch for a month. Now straight to bed with you."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all murmured a dejected, "Yes, sir." Before the portrait shut, Harry turned back and said, "Thank you for walking us back, Sir."

Professor Snape's face was still and unreadable when he answered, "You're welcome, Harry."

The portrait door clicked shut and the passageway was dark again, but this time the sconces had flickered on, as if expecting them.

"I hate that we got in trouble, but at least we won't have to spend detention with Filch," Ron said with relief.

"I can't believe we lied to a teacher," Hermione said in exasperation. "We're lucky we weren't expelled."

Slowly they began climbing the spiralling staircase that led to the dorm rooms.

"I bet the teachers are used to kids lying to them all the time to stay out of trouble," Ron said.

"Still, it's bad enough," Harry said. "Everyone's going to be pretty miffed when they see fifteen points gone at breakfast."

"Well, it could have been worse," Hermione said as they stopped at the top of the landing. She unhooked Ron's borrowed robe and handed it back to him. "If it were anyone else but you, Harry, it would have been."

Ron looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione with confusion. Harry gave Hermione the same look. "Why do you say that?" Harry asked.

"Because he called you by name."

Harry stood dumbfounded as Hermione turned and made her way to her dorm.

Ron slapped Harry on the shoulder and turned him around, "She's got a point, you know," Ron said as he led an astonished Harry back to their room.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Harry's stomach squirmed unpleasantly as he pulled on his school robes. He glanced over at Ron who was sitting on the edge of his own bed. Harry's best friend was so nervous he had tied the laces of his trainers together. "Oh bugger," Ron mumbled as he clumsily tried to undo the laces. Apparently, he was just as anxious about Professor Snape's impending punishment as Harry was. Thankfully their dorm mates had already made their way down to breakfast and Harry and Ron were free to wallow in their misery on their own.

Harry grabbed his rucksack and flung it over his shoulder. "Come on. We might as well get this over with."

"Says you," Ron said as he reached under the bed for his own bag. "I don't relish the idea of detention with Snape. Do you think he'll forget?"

"What do you think?" Harry replied flatly as he headed out the door. Ron followed him down the stairs to the common room. The room was eerily empty as everyone was required to be at breakfast. Ron had a hard time getting up so they were the last out the door.

Well...almost.

"We're going to be late. We're already in enough trouble as it is."

An irritated Hermione was awaiting them by the portrait hole.

"If you're so worried, why'd you wait?" Ron cut back.

Hermione rolled her eyes but ignored Ron's question. She followed the boys out into the corridor and the portrait of the Fat Lady shut behind them.

"Ronald, your brothers know about us getting into trouble last night," Hermione said casually.

Ron rounded on her hotly and pointed a finger in her face. "You didn't do something daft like tell them, did you?"

Hermione took a step back from Ron, her eyes crossed as they focused on his accusing finger. "Of course I didn't."

"Then how could they already know?" Harry asked as he continued his way to the Great Hall. "There was no one around."

Hermione must have made her way around Ron because she was right behind him when she answered. "I think they said something about the portraits."

Ron had finally caught up with them and was in now in-step with Harry and Hermione. "The portraits around here gossip," he replied, sounding a bit more contrite. "I guess they have nothing else better to do."

Hermione sighed, but said nothing as she continued to walk with Harry and Ron.

They came across a few students in the corridor who apparently were running late for reasons of their own. They ignored Harry and his friends as they hurried along. Harry was desperately hoping Professor Snape wouldn't notice them entering into the Great Hall late, but that was about as likely as him forgetting their detention.

They passed a dark corridor flanked by two suits of armour. They had taken no notice of the corridor until the heard two people humming behind them. They were humming a funeral dirge and managing to keep it in good harmony at that. Harry and his friends turned around only to discover that Ron's older twin brothers, Fred and George had snuck up behind them. Ron's brothers were sporting black armbands around their forearms.

"What are those for," Ron asked, pointing at the armbands.

"We're in mourning," one of the twins said. Harry still couldn't tell the difference between them. The doppelganger replied, "Harry's no longer in Snape's good graces."

"It's a sad day for Gryffindor," they said in unison.

Harry had no time to listen to Ron's brothers taking the Mickey out of them. So he grabbed his companions by arms and pulled them away from the Weasley twins. "Come on guys. We don't have time for this."

"Good thinking," he heard one of the twins say. "You don't want to be late for your own funeral!" the other called out.

Harry looked back briefly only to see that the twins were gone. He figured they must have gone back down the dark corridor.

"They're going to be in big trouble if Professor McGonagall notices them missing from breakfast," Hermione said.

"That's their lot," said Ron. "We have our own trouble to worry about."

"Ron's right," Harry said. "We better get there before the owl posts arrive or we  _will_  be late for our own funeral." That said, Harry broke into a run for the Great Hall with his friends hard on his heels.

* * *

Severus picked at his bubble and squeak and his poached egg had gotten cold enough to congeal. His students would have a hard time of it today because Severus was particularly grouchy when he was hungry and he was in no mood for dunderheads. He had no interest in the conversations between the other professors that buzzed around him, so Severus shut out his colleagues altogether.

Speaking of dunderheads, his son had finally sprinted into the Great Hall along with his two cohorts. Severus had been beyond angry when he overheard Draco Malfoy expel his plan to have Filch catch Harry and his friend wandering the corridors after dark. That plan backfired on the brat. When Severus caught the boy waiting for his cronies outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room earlier that morning, he accused Draco of advertising the location of the common room to the entire school and rewarded the boy with nothing less than detention with Mr Filch. Argus would have the boy scrubbing the showers and toilets in the Quidditch training rooms with a toothbrush. A distasteful enough prospect and totally inappropriate for the crime considering Severus would have merely chastised the boy had he not tried to set up Harry. No doubt he would receive an owl with a letter of protest from Lucius latter in the day. Severus would just ignore it and leave it indefinitely in his "incoming" box.

Harry and his friends, on the other hand, where in for a particularly unpleasant evening. Severus did not relish the idea of punishing his son so harshly, but the boy needed to learn straight away that indiscretion, especially one as grievous as wandering the corridors after dark to engage in what equates to a schoolyard fight, would result in severe consequences. Severus supposed he could revoke his permission to allow Harry to play Quidditch, but that would open up a whole other can of flubber worms. Rumours had already started with the staff and it would only be a matter of time before the student body caught wind of it. Like it or not, Severus would have to think of a way to have a discussion with Harry. He still had no idea what he would say.

Severus watched as Harry, Mr Weasley, and Ms Granger budged their way between Mr Longbottom and Mr Finnegan at the Gryffindor table. The children had obviously ran at least part of the way to the hall if their flushed faces and laboured breathing were any indication. He decided to let it pass. They weren't technically late and they obviously had some sense of urgency to get to breakfast on time.

Harry had just made it on time because no sooner had he sat down, the owls had arrived. Severus had utilized school owls to deliver Mr Weasley's and Ms Granger's detention notices, but for some inexplicable reason he couldn't help but use his own long-eared owl, Aotus, to deliver Harry's notice. Severus thought it odd when the boy offered Aotus a slice of bacon. Harry almost looked stricken when the owl turned his back to the offering and flew away. Then he remembered seeing that the boy's own snowy owl had an unnatural affinity for the treat. Obviously the boy thought all owls craved salted and cured meat.

Even from across the Great Hall, Severus could see the looks of wonder and concern on the children's faces as they brought their heads together to discuss the instructions in their letters. He had given them explicit instructions to have their homework done and to meet him at the main castle door by 6:45. Severus had also warned them to wear clothes they weren't afraid of ruining. Hopefully that wouldn't mean that Mr Weasley would show up in his school uniform like his twin brothers had done on more than one occasion when given the same instructions.

Severus had decided to give up on his breakfast. There wasn't much of anything that was worse than cold bubble and squeak. Now that he was certain that Harry had received his detention notice, there was no reason for him to linger any longer so he pushed his plate aside and arose from the table. On his way out, Severus made sure to hold his breath as he passed Quirrell and his malodorous turban.

* * *

Harry felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach as he waited for Professor Snape along with Ron and Hermione. Between lunch, their break in schedule and the free hour after super, they had all managed to get their homework done—Ron included. Hermione had their scrolls tucked neatly into her rucksack just in case Professor Snape asked to see their work.

Even though he wore a school cloak over his clothes, Harry still felt overly conspicuous in Dudley's cast offs. Poor Ron clothes weren't much better than Harry's, but at least his friend's shabbiest clothes fit him. Harry didn't think Hermione looked too bad in a pair of jeans and an old  _Supertramp_  tee shirt that she said once belonged to her mum. Hermione said she brought to school in case she had any messy art projects. Harry supposed having to serve a messy detention had once been the furthest thing from Hermione's mind.

It was 6:41 and Professor Snape hadn't arrived yet. Students were still wandering in and about the castle and more than a few gave Harry and his friends nasty looks. Harry wished they would stop looking at him. Their critical glares reminded him too much of Aunt Petunia.

"Why isn't he here yet?" Ron asked impatiently. "Do you think he forgot?"

"He's not going to forget, Ronald?" Hermione replied.

Harry looked at a clock on a nearby wall. "He's not late yet," Harry said. "Remember, sometimes he doesn't come into the classroom until the last minute. I think he wants to make us nervous."

"I think this is our punishment," Ron said bitterly. "We have to stand in front of the entire school in our rattiest clothes so they can all make fun of us."

Harry hoped Ron wasn't right. If this was Professor Snape's punishment, it was too cruel. Harry was hoping to escape bullies like Dudley when he came to Hogwarts. Having his favourite teacher turn out to be one would be more than Harry could stand.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a tall, black shadow approach them.

"See, I told you he would come," Hermione said as she pointed out Professor Snape making his way down the main stairs. Harry wondered where the professor had come from. Snape's office was in the dungeon.

When Professor Snape met them, he inspected their attire. He seemed satisfied with what Ron and Hermione had to wear but when his eyes finally caught sight of what Harry was wearing, Harry could swear he saw a flash of what he could only describe as loathing in the professor's dark eyes, but the look was gone before Harry could even decide if he imagined it.

"This will do," the professor said, but Harry didn't know if it was to them or to himself. Before Harry and his friends could ask the professor the nature of their punishment, Professor Snape rapped them each soundly on the top of the head with his wand.

"Ouch! What was that for?" Ron cried as he rubbed his head. Harry and Hermione were rubbing their heads too, but as Harry searched for the knot that would never appear, he felt a pleasant, warm sensation make his way from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

"That was a warming charm, Mr Weasley," Professor Snape said. "It will be a windy walk down to the village and cold work in the barn.

"We're going to the village," Harry asked excitingly.

Harry could see the flush of excitement on Ron and Hermione's faces too, but they all quickly sobered when Snape said grimly, "I assure you, this visit to Hogsmeade Village will not include a side trip to Zonko's or Honeyduke's."

Even with Professor Snape escorting them, Harry thought the walk down to the village was a little scary. Harry and his friends stay huddled together as they walked even though they weren't cold. The sun had already set even though it was still early and Harry was really grateful for the professor's warming spell because the wind was whipping up strong.

A couple of times Harry thought he heard a wolf howl on the wind but he knew that couldn't be right. There were no wild wolves in Great Britain anymore. Everyone knew that. But it couldn't have been his imagination. Even Ron and Hermione jumped at the sound. Harry looked up at the starry sky. He could see the moon peek out from around the silver-lined clouds.

Harry couldn't help it. He had to ask. He almost had yell to be heard over the wind even though the professor was only two steps in front of them, "Professor? Are werewolves real?"

Ron answered first. "Of course werewolves are real."

The professor looked over his shoulder at them. Professor Snape's dark eyes seemed lost in the blackness of the night but Harry thought he might have noticed the slightest hint of a smirk. "Mr Weasley is correct. Werewolves are real, but despite Hogwarts legends and tendency for senior students to scare their younger siblings, there are no werewolves living in the Dark Forest.

"But it could still be a werewolf, right? One could be living in the village," Hermione said. Harry could hear the slight quiver in her voice. He knew it wasn't because she was cold.

"There are no known werewolves living in Hogsmeade, Ms Granger."

"But what about unknown ones?" Hermione asked. Harry thought she had a point.

"You have a valid point Ms Granger. Not every werewolf is registered, but every now and then you need to get your nose out of a book and look out the window.

Without looking back at them, Professor Snape pointed up at the sky as Ron tried to supress a giggle with no success and Hermione balked. The silver clouds floated away and they revealed a half-moon.

"One of the Muggle families on the outskirts of Dufftown owns a Siberian Husky. They have an unfortunate tendency to howl and doubtless its cries were carried by the wind," Professor Snape said. "Regardless, there are no werewolves tonight."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and he heard Ron and Hermione do the same.

"How do you know that a Muggle family owns a Husky?" Hermione asked. "Do you know them?"

Harry could only see the back of Professor Snape's head but his annoyance at the question was made clear when he said, "We're not here to chit-chat. Come along." Then the professor picked up the pace. Harry and his friends nearly had to run all the way down the rest of the way to the village to keep up the pace.

* * *

Sometimes Severus questioned Albus Dumbledore's sanity. Well…actually he often questioned Albus Dumbledore's sanity. Why the old coot thought it a good idea to employ a former Death Eater with no tolerance for children was well beyond Severus' logic.

Even as a child himself, Severus couldn't stand to listen to his peers endlessly bombard their parents with questions. He was a quiet child, mostly out of necessity. The quieter he was, the less his father noticed him. If he needed an answer to a question he read or observed. Severus had always been totally self-reliant in that respect. He rarely asked questions of anyone and he had little patience for questions asked of him. Thanks to Albus, Severus was now burdened with a career that saddled him with questioning children. Severus supposed he could have gotten used to it by now if he had allowed himself to. But Severus chose not to be patient. His ire never failed to instil fear into the little buggers and fear of Snape's wrath begat order.

Besides—it was none of nosey little Ms Grangers business that Severus and Lily had stolen a side trip to Dufftown during more than one Hogsmeade weekend. And it certainly was nobody's business that Severus visited the village every Halloween night for the last eleven years to raise a glass of  _Glenffidich_ to her name.

Ironic, how Severus had always regretted not having a child of his own, yet he couldn't stand children. Well, he supposed he couldn't stand other people's children. Severus had always imagined if he had one of his own, it would be a quiet, studious child such as himself. But after eleven years Severus had learned one undeniable truth. Most children were full of questions and if things went according to plan, he would be raising a child of his own soon for Severus certainly wasn't going to let Harry stay with Petunia and her whale of a husband. Not even Severus was that callus. He was going to have to learn patience and finally get used to questions—especially uncomfortable ones. Never had Severus backed down from a challenge and he wouldn't back away from Harry, but Severus sorely wondered if he was up to the challenge of raising a child. He would find out soon enough.

Wisely, the children had remained quiet for the duration of their trek to the village. They passed the Three Broomsticks as Severus led them down High Street. Every so often he would turn his head to see the children lagging behind as they gawked at storefronts like Zonko's and Honeyduke's. It only took one steely glare from Severus for Harry and his friends to hurry their pace.

As they approached Gladrag's and Scrivenshaft's Severus turned off High Street to a darkened alley with a few scattered buildings that became more dilapidated the further they went. Severus no longer had to worry about lagging children for the trio made certain to stay close behind Severus' coat tails.

When they came to the last building at the end of the street, they were hit by the sickly-sweet smell before they could see the dim light in the window. Next to the Shrieking Shack, it was quite possibly the most run-down building in Hogsmeade. For that matter, Severus thought the Shrieking Shack might have a few less layers of grime. One thing was certain, the Shrieking Shack  _smelled_  cleaner.

There was a definite hint of fear and uncertainty in Ms Granger's voice when she asked, "Why are we here? Is this a pub?"

"Don't worry, Ms Granger. We're not here for fire whisky," Severus said. "Our destination is in back."

"This keeps getting better," a cheeky voice muttered.

"Silence, Mr Weasley," Severus drawled as he led them behind the pub.

Behind the pub was a small barn. Ms Granger quickly clasped her hand over her face as Harry and Mr Weasley pinched their noses and they simultaneously exclaimed, "Ugh". Severus was successful in hiding his amusement, but he could hardly blame them. The air was rather skanky.

As the barn door slowly opened with a rusty squeak, a dim shaft of light shone through. The children huddled closer together, nearly pressing into his side for protection. Severus never noticed his hand reaching down to Harry's shoulder, but he did notice Harry's posture change as the boy became more relaxed. The boy never looked up. Severus quickly removed his hand as if he touched a hot hob. Not knowing what else to do, he shoved his hands down his pockets of his robes.

"It's about time," a gruff voice said. The tall, thin man stared out at them with his bright blue eyes behind dirty spectacles. His grey hair was long and stringy and he slightly resembled a goat. But if one looked long enough, they would find something eerily familiar about the barmy codger. "I thought you'd never get here," he said as he bid Severus and the children into the barn. "I've got a pub to run, you know."

"Yes," Severus said as he led his charges in. "I see your patrons are filling the rafters."

The pub owner looked annoyed, but kept quiet.

Harry and his friend quietly stood in line while they awaited introductions. "Messers Potter and Weasley, Ms Granger, this is Mr Du…"

" _Ahem."_

Severus rolled his eyes at the old barkeep. It wasn't as if half of the wizarding world didn't know he was the headmaster's younger brother. "This is Mr…Aberforth. In addition to running this… _fine establishment_ , he is a goat herd, and has graciously given us permission to harvest bezoars."

The boy's eye grew with excited anticipation as they looked over at the goats and back up at Severus as if they couldn't believe their luck, but Ms Granger looked a little leary.

"Why don't you weans make your introductions to the goats whilst I have a word with your professor. There's some alfalfa over there. You can feed them if you like."

Severus watched as his son and his friends excitedly grabbed fistfuls of hay and handfed the goats, seemingly oblivious to their impending punishment.

"You do realize that this is a detention and not a trip to the petting zoo," Severus said, almost wishing he didn't have to spoil Harry's fun. But lessons had to be learned.

"The dirty work will start soon enough," the old innkeeper commented. Aberforth never turned his head from the children, but his eyes cut to Severus with ill-hidden concern.

"You didn't…erm… go into any details about me to children did you?"

"Which  _details_  do you mean?" Severus asked. "That you were convicted of using unnatural charms on your goats or that you're the headmaster's brother?"

"I was railroaded on that charge," the old man said defensively. "It was a simple husbandry charm. I do breed goats as part of my living, you know. I can't help it if one my billies got out and mistook Mrs Acheson for a doe. Woman should shave every now and then," he said gruffly. Once the younger Dumbledore had calmed down he asked, "What  _did_  you tell them?"

Severus managed not to laugh, but his amusement did reach his eyes. "Don't flip your kilt, Dumbledore," Severus mocked. "They only know you raise goats. Your true name and your dubious past are none of their concern."

Aberforth heaved a sigh of relief. "Good." Then his eyes narrowed, focused in on Harry. "The small one looks a lot like you when you were wee," he said casually. "Apparently, I'm not the only one with secrets." Severus was about to retort when Aberforth turned his back to leave. "I have a pub to run. Lock up before you leave."

Severus' attention turned to the happily chatting children feeding the happy little goats. "Enough." Severus did not snap, but his tone was menacing and serious enough that the children turned and snapped to attention as they dropped the hay to their feet. Even the goats they had been feeding looked up a Severus curiously before bending their heads and scavenging the dropped hay with no more concern for their benefactors.

"I hope you have had your fun," he said darkly. "It's time to begin your detention."

He could hear the children as the gulped in fear. He pointed his wand at a decrepit work table along a wall and with a flick, child-sized work aprons and three pairs of gloves appeared.

Severus rolled his eyes as the girl nervously raised her hand. "Yes," he said impatiently. "What is it, Ms Granger?"

"We're not going to hu…hurt the goats are we?"

Severus was taken aback. Apparently at some point since their first lesson, Ms Granger had read up on harvesting bezoars. Her reference material was clearly outdated.

"Do you think me so cruel, Ms Granger?" Severus asked sinisterly. To which the trio yelped, "No!" in unison.

Severus allowed himself a satisfied smirk. "No, Ms Granger, no one will be disembowelling goats today, nor will you have to shove your hand down their gullets. Fortunately, somebody invented a potion for that. Mr…Aberforth administered it yesterday, so that job is done and the goats are perfectly fine."

The children were visibly relieved after that and went to the table to don their work vestments.

It was Harry who made the next inquiry. "Erm…Professor Snape, Sir. How do we get the bezoars?"

Severus said nothing, only lightly indicated to the far wall of the barn with his finger. The children turned to see where he was pointing. Their eyes grew as big as an owl's when they saw the two troughs of goat waste.

Mr Weasley was the first to protest. "You mean we have to put our hands in goat shi…"

"I'd advise you to choose your words wisely before you lose another ten points for Gryffindor and earn another night's detention, Mr Weasley."

Mr Weasley's mouth snapped shut.

"And yes, at least two of you will be required to sort through the pellets and put the bezoars in a bucket whilst one of you will have to take the discarded pellets to the compost heap outside."

Severus showed the children exactly what kind of stones they would be looking for. Upon seeing the polished, opaque stone about the size of a robin's egg, Ms Granger declared they were "pretty" and decided she wanted to sort through the pellets. Mr Weasley, upon seeing that the goat's pellets weren't anything like cow manure and that since a girl was willing to sort through the pile, he decided it couldn't be that bad and volunteered as well, which left Harry to discard the buckets.

Ms Granger and Mr Weasley worked diligently and quietly. Harry helped them fill up the first bucket and it was full in only five minutes. Unfortunately, no bezoars were found. Severus escorted Harry outside to the compost heap. After all, the Hog's Head was infamous for its shady clientele. He couldn't risk his son coming across a drunken patron, or worse.

It was perhaps an hour later when Harry was dumping a bucket into the compost pile, that the boy broke the silence.

"Sir, are we related?"

Severus nearly choked. He was grateful for the darkness so the boy couldn't get a good look at his astonished expression.

Severus finally managed to find his voice. "Why do you ask such an impertinent question, Mr Potter?"

He could hear the tone of disappointment in the boy's voice. "I knew it. They were all just imagining things."

"Who was imagining what, Mr Potter?"

Severus' heart was racing. I looked as though the rumours had reached the students. How much did everyone suspect?

It was obvious that the question had been on the boy's mind for quite some time. When Harry answered, his rambling explanation flooded out like a broken dam.

"Well sir, a lot of people say that we kind of look alike and they say you're nicer to me than almost everyone else. Percy said that it's possible we're cousins or something because a lot of wizard families are related and that's why I look like you. And  _someone_  gave me permission to play Quidditch. My aunt and uncle would never give me permission so it had to be a witch or a wizard. So I figured everybody must be right." After a long pause Harry asked, "Is it true?"

Severus sat stunned for a moment and blinked. They boy's logic was sound. Already he had come close to puzzling together the truth on his own. But this wasn't the time or place, and Severus still could not find the words he so desperately needed. Yes, his time was running out, but this wasn't right. Not now. Not in front of a compost heap. At least that's how Severus rationalized it.

"It's certainly  _possible_  we are somehow related, but if we are distant cousins, it's news to me."

 _There!_  It was vague enough not to be an outright lie.

"Then you didn't give me permission to play Quidditch?"

"Mr Potter, I'm head of Slytherin House. What do you think?"

"I guess you wouldn't," Harry said after some thought. "But why are you nice to me?"

"I'm not  _nice_  to you, Mr Potter," Severus said. Though he tried to put some contempt in his tone he failed. "You just haven't given me reason enough to be angry with you—yet."

Now that was a lie and Severus knew Harry didn't quite buy into it. After all, the boy was caught sneaking about the corridors after curfew and here he was serving detention. That was enough to incur the wrath of any teacher. But the boy seemed to let it go rather than have Severus elaborate further.  _Thank goodness._

"I guess someone else is my relative then," Harry said. "Someone gave me permission to play Quidditch."

"It's still possible your aunt gave you permission," Severus said.

Harry simply replied, "No it isn't." Then the boy picked up his empty bucket a returned to the barn.

Severus knew he had to find the courage to tell Harry soon. One thing was certain. His son was no idiot.

**Author's Note:**

> I would really like to thank Luck for inviting me into this story. We have a ton of fun ideas and I think you all are really going to enjoy this.


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